The Price of Happiness
by otherhawk
Summary: After Pepper leaves him, Tony falls apart and spends all his time drinking and sleeping around. The team don't understand that he's miserable and Tony gets more and more lonely, until he meets someone new. At first it's wonderful, but slowly things take a darker turn.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with Avengers

A/N: For a prompt on the Avengers kinkmeme :

_Sometime after the Avengers, Tony and Pepper break up. Afterwards Tony's self-esteem takes a plummet and he becomes slightly self-destructive, partying a lot and drinking. The team lives with him at the tower and they are all in various states of worry (Bruce) and annoyance (Steve) over how Tony's been behaving. They think this is just normal Tony behavior and don't realize he's really in pain._

_After awhile though Tony starts dating some guy and his behavior turns around. He stops partying and drinking and being so loud and obnoxious. The team assumes he's happy and are glad his behavior has turned around._

_What they don't realize is that the guy Tony's dating is becoming increasingly abusive. First he was sweet, then the verbal abuse started, and finally he became physically abusive. Tony wasn't a complete push over though so he decides to talk to the team about it before things became too bad. He asks the team what they think of the guy and Steve says something like "He's great. Whatever he's doing that's gotten you to settle down he needs to keep doing." After hearing this Tony thinks the team agrees with the abuse so he stays in the relationship and withdraws further and further._

_One day someone notices the bruises on Tony and flips their shit trying to figure out where they came from and who's been hurting him. Tony's all confused and like "uh duh it was so-and-so I told you about this months ago." Cue truck loads of team angst with the team realizing that not only did they not help their teammate out of an abusive relationship but that they encouraged it. Then all the hurt/comfort in the world and them getting Tony the hell out of that relationship._

_Bonus: Steve feeling super upset with himself over his part in this especially because of his stance on bullies. This eventually leads to Steve beating the crap out of Tony's ex._

_X10000 Bonus: Coulson was gone on vacation or something (or recovering from pesky stab wounds) and doesn't come back till the end of this situation and is like "what the hell did you guys do to Stark." He is very upset about his team letting the situation go on for so long and coincidentally Tony feels most comfortable being around him since he wasn't involved in the whole situation._

* * *

Pepper left him for good on a warm summer's evening. The very next day every single TV network was carrying pictures of her kissing Happy on the backseat of the limo.

They both left him aghast messages, promising that it had never happened before and that they hadn't meant to hurt him, and that it hadn't gone any further than that. Pepper had been upset, and Happy had been there and caring, and things had just happened.

Truthfully, he believed them. It just didn't help.

He didn't pick up their calls. He didn't pick up any calls, and he avoided all the gentle, sympathetic overtures from the other Avengers instead staying in his penthouse and drinking away the day. This hurt. As if getting dumped wasn't bad enough, now he felt betrayed as well. Oh, Pepper.

But they kept talking about her on TV. His humiliation was happening in full sight of the world. They ran the pictures again and again, and made all these little disparaging comments. They called her a golddigger and a tramp and started talking like he must have left her. Like he was clearly better off without her. He had all the sympathy here, and he just _hated_ it. Pepper was...Pepper was perfect. Always. _He _was the screw-up. And he knew how much she was hating this as well, he could hear it in every increasingly exhausted voice message she left him. Pep had never wanted to be in the public eye, and now the public hated her.

The others were worried about him, he knew. He got that from the way Bruce suddenly had twice as many projects he wanted Tony to have a look at, and Natasha brought him coffee and ice cream when he didn't come down for dinner, and Steve kept suggesting that Tony could take him out to see the sights of 21st century New York, and Clint challenged him to sparring matches or video games tournaments, and Thor suggested that they get drunk together, sing sand songs and go hunt a Bilgesnipe, which was either a euphemism or a weird Asgardian break-up tradition. Or both. Either way, he said no. He said no to everyone. He didn't want their pity or sympathy, he just wanted to curl up in a hole and die. Or better yet, he wanted to stop feeling this _emptiness. _

He couldn't stand it. There was something twisted up inside his stomach. He had to get out of here. He had to do something.

He went out that night to a little exclusive club he knew, and he bought more drinks than the club had glasses, and he ended up going home with three cocktail waitresses, and the next day the media was full of pictures of the four of them getting hot and heavy in the elevator. Pepper wasn't mentioned once.

It wasn't that it felt good, exactly, but it felt _different. _They weren't Pepper, and with the burn of the alcohol and the sweat-slicked sensation of skin-on-skin, the memories of everything he'd lost faded, just a little, just for a moment. It wasn't good, but it would do. For now.

Unfortunately, the next day was the ceremony to announce that the first phase of the clean-up of New York was complete. And that meant that the Avengers had a press conference to celebrate their part in the clean-up, and somehow no one wanted to know that they'd been working every day for weeks, they just wanted to know about Tony's latest escapade. There was smirking. A lot of smirking.

"Are you going to see them again, Tony?"

"So on your list of orgies, how high did this one rank?"

"How do you respond to the accusation from the girl's building manager that you left a condom in the elevator for him to clean up?"

He winced a little at that one, mostly for the disgusted look on Bruce's face. Bruce looked like he'd rather be anywhere but here.

"The Avengers are going to take part in the next phase of the rebuilding by - " Steve began uncomfortably, but he was interrupted by some lurid speculation as to whether the girls were bisexual.

As Agent Sitwell stepped in and ushered them off the stage, Steve frowned at him, looking disappointed and disapproving. "That could have gone better."

"Next time, keep it in your pants, huh, Stark?" Clint grumbled as they headed back to the tower.

He didn't say anything. He really wanted a drink, and he wanted to drown out all the memories of today.

* * *

It was early morning and Natasha was the first one up, which was unusual. Normally Steve or Dr Banner were up before her. They had all got into the habit of having breakfast in the communal kitchen, initially so they could be easily briefed on the day's clear-up duties, and make sure the more...erratic...among them were aware it was morning, they were in New York, and they had a job to do. Nowadays it was more of a habit than anything else, but a nice habit, she thought. It was good to hear what the others had planned for the day. It made her feel more connected to them.

There was the sound of the elevator doors opening and a second later Stark stumbled in. His hair was sticking up all over the place, his eyes were bloodshot and he looked like he hadn't shaved for a few days. She glanced casually back to the elevator – it had been going up. Apparently this was Stark just getting in.

"Did you have a good night?" she asked neutrally.

He just grunted.

"There's fresh coffee in the pot," she told him, and she watched as he staggered over to the counter and poured himself a mug full. This wasn't the first time she'd seen Stark in this condition. Over the last two weeks it had become more and more common, until she barely saw him sober. And assuming the media reports were more or less accurate, he'd had sex with sixteen different people in that time. At least four of them had immediately ran and sold their story to the papers. '_My night of passion with a superhero'. _Natasha had been ordered to read all the original transcripts just to be sure Stark hadn't given away any operational or security details to civilians who plainly couldn't be trusted. At least he wasn't taking them back to the tower. Right now, that was the best that could be said for him.

She'd been surprised that three quarters of Stark's chosen partners were men. She'd compiled the file on him, and she knew he had shown bisexual tendencies in the past, but there had only been a few times when he'd been reportedly intimate with other men. The supposed change in behaviour had the press going wild, and the prevailing theory seemed to be that Stark had been gay all along, and Pepper had left when she found out.

Natasha wasn't so sure this _was _a change in his behaviour. Yes, the equipment he was playing with might be different, but as near as she could tell it was the same game. Stark had gone right back to collecting notches on his bedpost the moment he was single again, and while she didn't really object on any sort of moral grounds, she found it an unnecessary distraction. Being this high profile already made her uncomfortable, the last thing she wanted was to live surrounded by sex scandal after sex scandal. She wondered how Pepper had put up with being his PA for so long. Personally, Natasha would have neutered him after a month.

Pepper. She sighed, remembering their last conversation and the hurt in the other woman's voice.

"So who was it tonight?" she asked with deceptive pleasantness as Stark sat down. "Or did you not manage to get a name this time?"

Stark shrugged and stared down at his coffee. "Just someone," he said.

There was a stubble rash across his throat, she noticed clinically. A man, then. And for the rash to be at that angle, he would have had to be pressing down on top of Stark. She raised an eyebrow. She wouldn't have thought Stark would be willing to relinquish control like that.

"What?" Stark asked irritably in response to her look.

She shook her head. It wasn't something that required discussion. Just, perhaps, a further sign that Stark was getting worryingly out of control. It made her feel bad, surprisingly. Over the past month she had come to feel a certain fondness for him. He was brave and generous, and when he chose to be, he could be rather charming. But she couldn't see a way this ended well. Not for him or for anyone.

"Perhaps you should take a break from partying for a while," she suggested, watching him keenly.

"What do you mean?" Stark asked, lounging back in his chair.

"Your selfish pursuit of your own pleasure is a problem," she told him bluntly.

Stark glared at her defensively. "Capsicle put you up to this? Or Bruce?"

She hadn't realised that anyone else had already talked to him. Or perhaps they hadn't and Stark had just picked up on the prevailing mood. At any rate she paused for a second, taking a sip of her own coffee and trying to think of the perfect weakness to exploit. Ah. "Pepper is worried about you," she said with absolute truth. "All of this is making her very unhappy."

There was a flash of something in Stark's eyes – hurt? - and then it was gone and he was leering across the table at her. "Wait, _I'm _what you two talk about when you're alone? Well, that's frankly disappointing. I had some serious sexual fantasies tied up in you being involved in some torrid affair. All naked pillow fighting, tickling, and light spanking. The world's sexiest redheads entwined. No?"

"You're a pig, Stark," she said calmly.

He shrugged. "Oink oink, Spider." He stood up and drank his coffee in a single gulp. "I'm going to go lie down. I didn't get a whole lot of sleep last night, if you know what I mean."

He headed back towards the elevator. She deliberated for a moment before calling after him. "Stark!" He paused, but didn't turn round. "You have been down this road before. Do you really like the ending?"

They were both remembering that disastrous birthday party, she knew. But when Stark turned back he was smiling, his hands spread wide. "Oh, Widow, haven't you heard? It's not the destination, it's the _journey._"

With that, he stepped into the elevator and vanished.

Natasha sighed and shook her head. It didn't seem like there'd be any stopping him. Perhaps it was time to start some damage limitation. It was always possible that if she distanced herself, he would realise his behaviour was problematic.

* * *

Everyone always said that these things get better with time. As far as Tony could tell, they didn't. Natasha was barely talking to him outside missions these days. He figured he'd probably gone too far, but then he usually did. She wasn't the only one who was angry with him either; they all were to greater or lesser degrees.

Steve had confronted him after the latest round of stories broke in the press. "You need to be more careful," he said, sounding frustrated.

It was always difficult arguing with Steve when you half thought he was right. He hadn't read them, but he knew the guy in the club had given him rave reviews, as had all the people watching. JARVIS had given him the highlights, and it made him feel old and tired and very, very stupid. But with Steve looking at him like that, he had to keep the act up, and he pretended to misunderstand. "I promise you, Cap, there were condoms all round," he said seriously. "Some of them were bubblegum flavoured."

Steve's face briefly showed a sort of fascinated disgust. "_Bubblegum? _No. No, never mind, I don't want to know, Stark. I mean you have to be more careful who you sleep with. Have you even considered the security implications? We should really be running background checks on all these people."

"Yeah, that's not going to work for me," Tony said with a sharp grin. "Are you saying this to everyone else? Or am I just special?"

"I don't like seeing you give yourself away so cheaply," Steve admitted, and he felt a flash of hurt.

"I like sex," he told Steve fiercely. "I like all kinds of sex with all kinds of people. That does not mean I'm 'giving myself away'. What is this, a cheap romance novel?" There was nothing wrong with what he was doing, and he didn't even want to consider the fact that nothing compared to Pepper. He was picking up men just so the comparison was harder to make. He didn't want to admit that these days, meaningless sex left him feeling meaningless.

"That's not the point though," Steve steamrollered on. "If everyone knows that anyone with a cute smile can get to Iron Man, eventually someone's going to take advantage of that. What do you think is going to happen if you get kidnapped?"

He took a deep breath. "Well, history suggests there'll be a lot of screaming, and then I'll build something awesome, escape and kill them all. It's kind of what I do."

"Tony," Steve sighed, and he couldn't tell if that was disappointment or annoyance. Either way, he wished it would stop. Every time they looked at him in disgust like that, he felt a little worse and he felt pushed into defending himself.

Bruce said what he did in his personal life was his own business, which was something. Except Tony knew he still disapproved, and it was hard to be friends with someone who was trying not to care about your personal life. At least he wasn't getting any lectures though. Or he thought he wasn't, until one day when he was sitting with a drink – or drinking out the bottle – while he took apart the toaster, and Bruce turned to him with an earnest expression. "Have you ever thought maybe you drink too much?"

Yes. "Nope," he said cheerfully. "Everything's fine."

Bruce sighed deeply. Everyone sighed at him these days. "Okay. You know I respect you, Tony."

He shrugged, uncomfortable with the conversation already. "I was holding out for awe, but sure."

Apparently that was enough. "I get that you like to have a good time, and that's fine, but it's not something I feel comfortable with. Especially when I'm working. I don't want to be around you when you drink, and I need you to understand that if you ever show up drunk at my lab, I'm locking you out and changing the security protocols so you never get in again."

He could point out that this was his damned tower and besides there was no way Bruce could design a security protocol he couldn't get through. But that wasn't the point. When he'd offered Bruce a place to stay, he said he'd keep all the annoying types away. Apparently that included him. "Sure," he said easily. "I get the message."

"It's not you," Bruce tried to say.

He laughed humourlessly. "Yeah. I've been hearing that a lot lately." And he knew it wasn't true. He was the common denominator here. It was his drinking and sleeping around that made everyone uncomfortable, and that filled him with a familiar self-disgust. But when he tried to stop, just for a few days, the penthouse was large and lonely, and making conversations with the others was just too difficult and awkward. The people he slept with might only be with him because they wanted to say they'd slept with Tony Stark, but at least they didn't judge him. They were warm and alive, and lying next to them he felt human. Dirty and disgusting, but human.

But that meant that the others didn't want to spend time with him. He understood that; he drove everyone away in the end. Still, before all this, it had felt like they were making progress. Now everyone was worried and annoyed, and even Clint and Thor had stopped inviting him to their mammoth eighties movie marathons. It was stupid how easy it was to miss the little things.

He was lonely, he supposed, and that just led to even more self-loathing. The truth was, he didn't know the other Avengers that well. They lived together, and he liked them, and he was happy to fight alongside them – he trusted them to watch his back, but trusting them enough to actually try and talk about his feelings...no. Not yet, and maybe not ever. And Rhodey was on assignment in North Korea, which he wasn't supposed to even know about, but it was one more thing weighing down on him, and not just because of the mandatory communications blackout. It was something he'd never, ever share, but he found it much harder to sleep when he knew Rhodey was out of the country, doing something dangerous. Always had, ever since Rhodey's first deployment after MIT, and if anything it had got worse since Rhodey became War Machine. That was his design Rhodey was flying around, and if he got hurt it would all be Tony's fault. And now he was in North Korea and the War Machine wasn't built for infiltration, so that was worrying, and Rhodey probably didn't even know Tony and Pepper had broken up, and everything was just a mess.

And of course he couldn't talk to Pepper. No matter how much he wanted to. And that was only made worse by the fact that he _had _to. She was CEO of Stark Industries, he was the owner and lead engineer. Talking was kind of inevitable.

"Miss Potts is on the line," JARVIS announced as Tony sat up, trying to scrub the grit from his eye after an unsuccessful attempt at a nap on the sofa in his workshop. Actually sleeping in his bed was proving impossible at the moment.

He yawned. "Did she say it was important or very important?"

"Extremely important," JARVIS said, a note of cold disapproval in his voice. He hadn't forgiven Pepper for the break-up, no matter how often Tony explained that these things happened and it had really been his fault anyway. It wasn't often that JARVIS got the nuances of human behaviour wrong; Tony kept meaning to check his coding.

"Put her through," he said with a sigh.

A second later, her image flashed into life on the monitor opposite. She was wearing that blue dress he liked, paired with a crisp suit jacket, her hair piled on top of her head. She looked beautiful, and he was suddenly very aware of what a mess _he _looked. Or, rather, what a mess he _was_. He smiled with an effort. "Miss Potts."

She wasn't in a playful mood. "Tony. Are you aware that there's a story on the wire about you crashing a sorority party?"

"I didn't 'crash' it, I was invited," he protested. "And you're always saying I should be more involved in college education."

"I meant scholarships and guest lectures," she said through gritted teeth. "Not keg stands and seducing co-eds."

"If it helps, there was only one, and I'm pretty sure she was a grad student," he offered.

She sighed, massaging her temples. "Tony...you know we have that education symposium coming up. And we're in the middle of bidding for contracts to provide Stark Pads to half the Ivy League. And now every time anyone mentions Stark Industries and education in the same breath, they're going to be thinking of your drunken exploits."

There was a part of him that wanted to apologise. There was another part that wanted to blame her for all of this. But most of all, he just wanted to admit to her that he was miserable, and have her hold him and talk to him, and make it all better like only she ever could. He shrugged. "C'mon, Pep, just tell them that drunken exploits and casual sex are what college is all about. I'm providing an excellent example."

"Tony, the board is talking seriously about distancing Stark Industries from you," she told him bluntly. "I was able to override them this time, but I won't be able to keep doing that forever."

"Well, maybe you shouldn't," he said after a second, and it hurt to listen to the words coming out of his own mouth. "I made you CEO because I trust you to do the best thing for the company."

"You made me CEO because you were too busy dying and being an ass to do it yourself," she answered sharply.

"Yeah, well, the other thing was part of it too," he said. "Seriously, Pepper, I'm not dying but I'm still an ass. You need to do what you think is right."

"Tony - " she looked visibly upset.

" - just think about it," he interrupted quickly. He already knew what she'd decide. She had a better head for business than he ever had. "Now, was that all you were calling about?"

"No," she said. "I wanted to check how the new thermal imaging project for FEMA was coming?"

He swallowed hard. "I'm having some trouble," he admitted. Trouble like had hadn't actually managed to successfully build anything since she'd left. Every project he had lay abandoned. He hadn't even made any upgrades to the Iron Man armour, and he usually came up with one or two little things per week. He was managing to keep on top of maintenance, but that was it. The drive to create had left him, and all he was left with was an uncomfortable restless itch under his skin, like he knew he should be doing something but couldn't remember how.

"Oh!" She blinked in surprise. They both knew it should have been a simple job. The specifications were exact, but far from outrageous. He should have been able to do it in his sleep. The only trick would be to bring it in under budget, and that was more of a personal challenge than anything else. "I could kick it over to R&D if you like?" she suggested hesitantly. "Maybe a fresh perspective is all you need. " They both knew that would cause all sorts of rumours, but the deadline was looming and what was one more blow to his pride?

He sighed. "Sure," he agreed tonelessly, feeling completely useless. Another thing he wasn't good enough for anymore.

There was a pause and he could feel her looking at him, almost as if she was in the room instead of the other side of the country. "Tony...are you alright?" she asked eventually.

He wasn't alright. He was drowning and he needed someone to throw him a line." I'm just fine," he said with his brightest smile. "You know me. I'm a bit under the weather this morning. Big party last night."

She didn't look convinced.

"How's Happy?" he asked hurriedly.

Like he'd expected, guilt distracted her. "He's...he's still upset about what happened, and about you sending him to Malibu with me. I mean, we both understand why you did, but it still hit him hard." She hesitated. "He..asked me out to dinner on Saturday. I haven't given him an answer yet. I wanted to know if it was something you thought you could be okay with. I don't want to ruin anything."

"Little late for that, don't you think?" he said before he could stop himself.

"I know," she said, her voice choked. "I just want to go back to the way things were before."

Back when they were still friends. She hadn't just broken up with him, she wanted to forget their whole relationship. But since she was the only woman he'd ever loved, and the first person he'd been in a real relationship with for almost two decades, it wasn't that simple for him. With her he'd felt complete. At peace. Now she was gone, it was like he'd lost everything that mattered.

"If I'd given up on being Iron Man, given up drinking, stopped working all the time, stopped being so...so _me, _could we have made it work?" he asked desperately.

She looked sad. "Oh, Tony. That's the point. You shouldn't have to give up all those things for a relationship. You deserve someone who'll love you _because _of all that, not in spite of it."

That was a yes. And she talked like he was going to find someone else, when the truth was, up to this point he'd managed to keep three friendships in his life, and he paid Pepper and Happy, and Rhodey had always needed to keep him sweet in order to stay as Stark Industries military liaison. He wasn't good with people on a long term basis, and basic logic told him he was going to end up alone.

"You should go out with Happy," he said quietly. "He's a good guy. He'll treat you right." Not like _him. _

"Tony - " There was just a hint of tears in her eyes, and he couldn't stand it. She'd been holding them back the night she broke up with him as well. It had made him feel like a worm.

" - I'd better go," he babbled. "Steve has one of his team-building exercises planned, and you know how he gets when people are late. It'll be puppy-dog eyes all over the place, and before you know it I'll have agreed to take him to Disney World or something just to try and cheer him up."

"Tony - " she said again.

" - gotta go, bye Pep." He made a quick signal and JARVIS hung up the call.

"While Captain Rogers does not have any team building exercises planned, it appears the household is congregating for dinner, and are planning on watching a movie after that," JARVIS announced. "May I suggest you consider joining them?"

"Why?" he asked tiredly, lying back on the sofa. Sleep _felt _like it should be possible, and yet every time he closed his eyes it seemed further and further away.

"For one thing, sir, you have not eaten since approximately seven o'clock yesterday evening," JARVIS told him.

"Not true, I had that sandwich," he objected.

"Yes, sir," JARVIS agreed patiently. "At approximately seven o'clock yesterday evening you consumed a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Might I also add that peanut butter and jelly do not, in themselves, constitute any of the major food groups?"

"I'm not hungry," he said sullenly. "And even if I am, Dummy can make me a smoothie, right Dummy?"

The bot perked up at the thought, claw turned enquiringly towards Tony, radiating hope with every inch of its being. Dummy knew Tony was miserable even if he didn't understand why or how to fix it.

"You see?" he said to JARVIS triumphantly.

"I also believe you are in need of human company," JARVIS told him.

A night spent trying to think of things to say, trying to dodge the disapproval, staring down their cold indifference...no. That was absolutely not what he needed. "I'm fine," he said.

"With respect, sir, you just told your ex-girlfriend to work to take your company away from you," JARVIS said, his voice more gentle than the words suggested. "I am not certain that is the work of a rational man."

"I just told my CEO to consider distancing the company from potentially undesirable elements," he corrected. "Pepper will do what she needs to."

"Have you considered what you need, sir?" JARVIS asked quietly.

"I need..." He sighed. "I need to get out of here. Human company, you said? Right. Let's try some more of that. I'll take the Bugatti and call ahead to Cymbal's, make sure the VIP room is waiting."

"That was not what I had in mind, sir," JARVIS said unhappily, but Tony knew he would do what he asked regardless.

He smiled. "Don't wait up," he said.

* * *

Not counting the Battle of New York or the clean up and associated Chitauri stragglers afterwards, this was the fourth missions that Steve had led the Avengers into, and the second involving Doombots. It seemed some dictator in Latveria had found he had a need for some Vibranium and rather than trying to buy some he'd sent an army of robots that looked like him to try and steal it. That had been two weeks ago, and the robots had been relatively easy to defeat – the six Avengers had fought together with the sort of precision and harmony that made Steve's heart glad. _This _was a team a man could be proud to lead. Only now, two weeks later the robots were back. Same facility, same plan as near as Steve could tell, only this time the robots were faster, more armoured, and better able to adapt to their fighting techniques. Plus some of them had flamethrowers. But when their side had Hulk, and a Norse God capable of bringing lightning, plus an archer with exploding arrows, and a tech genius with what Steve was privately terming an 'anti-robot-gun' although he expected there would be a better explanation later, the robots weren't standing much of a chance. He and Natasha weren't managing to do much more than knock them down, but that was working out perfectly. They were in charge of crowd control, herding the robots into clusters in open spaces so the others could do their thing.

It was a role that gave Steve plenty of time to observe his team. Especially Iron Man. He was watching for every mistake, every time that Tony's reactions seemed a little slower than usual, or his aim seemed a little off. Tony had been out again last night and Steve was worried it might affect him, no matter how blasé Tony had said when he said he was fine.

Truthfully, Steve didn't know what to do. He disapproved of everything Tony was doing these days – he was obnoxious, venal, disrespectful and out of control, and as leader, Steve knew he should be bringing him to heel. Except that had never been his style of leadership and he really didn't want to. It had never _had _to be his style of leadership. He'd never tried to be in charge of someone like Stark before. Back in the war, people had kept their work and their off hours a lot more separate. Not that there had been much chance to do anything else, of course.

He could order Stark to simmer down, he supposed, but the problem with that was this team was so new that he didn't want to start giving too many out-of-combat orders. Apart from anything else, there was always the possibility he'd be disobeyed. Besides, Stark owned this tower and supplied half their equipment plus paying for all the little sundries – groceries to punching bags and all the little things in between. It wasn't that he was afraid Stark would hold all that over his head if they argued, it was just...he was very conscious of just how much the Avengers owed Iron Man.

The thing was, he liked Tony when Tony wasn't being over the top, but that was all the time these days, and he just wanted to strangle the man. He was affecting their unit cohesion and their public reputation, and he didn't even seem to care. And Natasha said this was normal behaviour for him when he was single. That made him glad they'd met while Tony was still dating Miss Potts. If Tony had been like this when they'd met, he doubted they'd have ever got to be sort-of-friends.

Truthfully, he wasn't sure if all this irritation was really Stark's fault. Tony wasn't the only one letting his personal life affect his job. One of the few Howling Commandos to survive the war, Garbiel Jones, had contacted him a few days ago. He was dying and he'd wanted to see his old CO again. The media could speculate all they liked as to whether the Captain America from the forties and the Captain America running around today were the same man; the people who knew him couldn't be fooled. He'd gone along to the hospital, awkward and nervous. Gabriel had been very, very old, and very, very frail, and so much smaller than the man Steve remembered. He'd sat by the bed and called Gabriel's name, and Gabriel hadn't even recognised him. Hadn't remembered asking him to come. A bad day, his daughter said, and he was ushered away, feeling like he'd failed.

That had been three days ago and he'd got a phonecall last night to tell him Gabriel was going downhill fast. So he was in no mood to put up with Stark's antics.

The civilians were crowding around the top of the street again. Steve didn't get it. He would have thought it was basic human nature to stay away from things that could hurt you. "Widow, get those people back," he ordered.

"Any of them cute?" Clint called. "Maybe we should get Stark to do it. It must be at least three hours since he got laid."

"No names over the radio," Steve reminded him sharply. Maybe everyone knew Stark was Iron Man, but the rest of them weren't that publicity-seeking, and it was always best not to get into bad habits.

Of course they both ignored the interruption. "Yeah? What's it been for you, two years? Use it or lose it, Legolas," Tony retorted.

"Hawkeye, Iron Man, cool it, okay?" Steve snapped. "If it's not mission-related, I don't want to hear it. And that's an order."

"Oh, an order," Tony said, the smirk audible in his voice. "I guess Captain Frigid doesn't like all the sex talk, huh?" He paused, hovering in the air directly above Steve and pantomimed something obscene with his hips. The flash of a dozen camera phones filled the air.

Steve's blood boiled. That was enough. That was _more _than enough. "Stark, it's things like this that make you a burden on this team. You're an _embarrassment, _nothing more. Now, do you think that you can keep your mouth shut for the rest of this fight, or do I have to tell you to stand down?"

He was tense, waiting for the come-back, fully prepared to bench Stark if he had to. He needed to know his orders would be obeyed.

But Stark didn't say anything at all, and after a few second he flew off, catching the stragglers from the group of robots Hulk was smashing.

The rest of the fight passed remarkably quickly, and in even more remarkable peace and quiet. Much as he enjoyed this sudden professionalism, Steve did feel bad. He'd never complained about coms chatter before, no matter how distasteful it had previously got, and he hadn't really meant for Tony to shut up altogether. But there was a line, and Tony had to learn where that was. Hopefully this would be a wake-up call, because Steve really didn't want to have to start thinking about benching him for good. A short, sharp shock. Maybe that was exactly what Tony needed.

* * *

Tony sat on the floor of his workshop, hunched against the door. There was a bottle lying next to him, but he'd managed to avoid opening it. The plans for a new Iron Man suit hung in the middle of the room, spinning slowly. They were basically an amalgamation of two previous marks. There was nothing new there. Nothing fresh. He hadn't _created, _he'd _copied._ These days that was all he was capable of. He was turning into Justin Hammer.

"Scrap it," he ordered. "Scrap the whole project."

The hologram vanished instantly. Normally when he asked to delete something, JARVIS would suggest saving it for a rainy day. This must really be as bad as he thought.

His head thudded back against the door. "JARVIS, what does it mean when you can't make stuff anymore?" he asked.

"I believe it is often considered a sign of stress, sir," JARVIS answered smoothly.

He laughed humourlessly. "Stress? What have I got to be stressed about. I've got the perfect life." He gestured around the workshop with the bottle. "Billionaire, genius, playboy, philanthropist superhero, remember? Who wouldn't kill for that package? In case you haven't noticed, J, people are queueing up to get a piece of me."

"Yes, sir."

He paused and glanced at the nearest camera. There had been a definite tone there. He sighed. "You have a problem with me now, JARVIS? Save the lectures, okay? I get enough of them from Captain Spangles."

"I would not have any problem, sir, if I believed for one second you were happy in your current lifestyle," JARVIS said quietly.

It was like a slap in the face. He didn't need reminding how miserable he was. "What would _you _know about it," he snapped. "You're just a machine."

There was silence. Tony clapped his hands over his mouth in horror, as if he could somehow take the words back.

"No, that's not...I didn't mean it," he protested weakly. "JARVIS, you know you're more than that to me." He waited as the silence stretched out. He didn't know what he'd do if he lost JARVIS too.

"I know, sir," JARVIS said at last, but his tone was still cool. "Perhaps you should consider your words more carefully before speaking."

"If I could do that, imagine how different my life would be," he said gloomily. "For what it's worth, I really didn't mean it."

"I know," JARVIS said again, his voice softer. "With respect, sir, perhaps you should consider spending more time with other people."

That was what JARVIS always said when he thought Tony had been shut up in his workshop too long, and Tony's mind immediately leapt to times when that would have meant Pepper, would have meant kisses and laughter, and listening to how her day had been, and nothing was boring when he was with her.

He wanted her so bad he couldn't stand it.

He sighed, and scuffed his shoes together absently. "People, huh? Alright, I'll give it a try." He'd been trying to avoid the others as much as he could. All he seemed to do was annoying him, and he knew Steve hadn't been kidding when he'd been talking about making him stand down. He didn't want to risk giving him any ideas. Being on the team was about all he had right now.

Still, he wandered down to the communal area to see who was there, and was surprised to see Steve standing by the kitchen table, wearing dark suit and tie.

He raised an eyebrow. "That's a bit grim for a night out, isn't it?"

Steve didn't smile. "Gabriel Jones died on Monday. The funeral's tomorrow, but there's a viewing tonight. I...I wanted to be there." His voice cracked, embarrassing them both.

Tony didn't know what to say. This was people-stuff, and his track record proved he was terrible at it. "I'm sorry," he said awkwardly.

"Yeah." Steve ran his hand through his hair and took a deep breath. "He was ninety five. That's a good age, right? And he married a great dame and they had five kids, twelve grandkids and eighteen great grandkids. That's what he always said he wanted after the war. A big family."

There was a pause and Tony desperately tried to find some words. _Any _words. "It sounds like he had a good life?" he suggested awkwardly.

Somehow, it worked. Steve relaxed and smiled at him tiredly. "Yeah. I think he did. Thanks, Tony."

He was struck by an idea. "Hey, do you want me to come with you I mean, I'm not sure this is the sort of thing you should go to alone."

"No!" Steve exclaimed immediately. "No, definitely not. Sorry, Tony. The family has been through enough. They really don't need your sort of publicity."

With ease of practice, he hid the flinch. There was nothing he could really say to that. No way he could defend himself.

"Natasha is coming with me," Steve added, catching sight of something on his face. "So you don't need to worry."

"I wasn't worried," he said automatically.

"Sure," Steve smiled, in a way that was just on the wrong side of patronising. "I'd better head out. I'll see you later though, okay? Have a good night."

"You too," he said, and immediately winced. "I mean, I hope it goes well."

He waited until Steve was gone before slumping down at the table, his head buried in his hands. He was such an idiot. He couldn't do anything right.

He sighed. So much for human company. Steve and Natasha were out at this viewing for Steve's old friend. Clint was visiting Phil in hospital, and then had his mandatory post-brainwashing therapy session. Thor had gone to Asgard to visit his brother in prison or whatever they had there. Bruce was working on some soft of breakthrough, which he hoped would make his transformations less painful and allow him to retain more memories.

All his friends were busy. More to the point, all his friends had _real _problems. It was enough to make him feel even more disgusted with himself than he already was. He had the perfect life; all his problems were self-inflicted. No matter what he did, he could never be a better person.

Somehow his phone was in his hand and he stared down at it, his fingers hovering over Pepper's number. He could call her right now. He could tell her how sorry he was, and how miserable. Instead he called Rhodey, and of course he got his voicemail. Rhodey's phone was probably sitting at the bottom of a locker somewhere. And still he closed his eyes as Rhodey's clipped tones told him to leave a message.

"Hey, honeybear, 's me. I just...Pepper and me split up. Her decision. I know you're not gonna get this for a while but I just wanted...yeah." His voice sounded raw. "Come back soon, Rhodey. And safe. I'll buy you a new car. I'll buy you your own plane. Whatever. Just...I'll see you soon." He hung up abruptly and scowled. Rhodey was going to hear that messae and he was going to think Tony was dying again, or on drugs or something. He wiped his hand across his mouth. "JARVIS, do me a favour and delete that message will you?"

"Sir, I am certain that Colonel Rhodes would prefer to hear that message." JARVIS protested.

Tony shrugged. "Well, what he doesn't know won't hurt him. Lose it."

"Yes, sir," JARVIS agreed unhappily.

He sighed. He didn't mean to upset JARVIS again. This day just kept getting better and better. "I'm going out," he announced, standing up abruptly. "Call ahead to Ludo's and make sure I'm on the guest list, will you? And call a cab."

"Yes, sir," JARVIS said, and now he sounded even more unhappy.

Too bad. Tony just wanted to stop _thinking. _Something had to change soon, right?

* * *

It was morning and the sunlight streaming in his eyes woke him up. He groaned and rolled over, trying to bury his face in the pillow. Huh. Cotton sheets and a firm mattress. This wasn't his bed. And it was empty. Normally he was the one who did the leaving in the morning.

Bleary-eyed, and with no real memory where he was or who he'd hooked up with, he stood up and found his clothes lying on the floor at the side of the bed. He wrinkled his nose. Too bad going out to a bar with a change of underwear was frowned upon. With a sigh, he dressed and cautiously opened the bedroom door.

It led into a reasonably sized apartment. There was a man standing in the kitchen area, fully dressed and making pancakes. Funny. He was pretty sure he'd seen Coulson wearing that exact suit. The guy looked better in it than Agent ever had.

"Oh, you're awake," the man smiled. Mark Lowing, Tony's mind supplied in a whisper. FBI agent. He liked classic cars and classic movies, and he did amazing things with his mouth. His dick wasn't bad either. "Good. I have to head to work soon, and I was afraid I might miss you. Always feels cheap leaving with only a note, you know?"

Tony generally didn't bother with a note. "Bad guys won't catch themselves, right?" he said instead. He hated this part. People were always looking for more of him than he was willing to give, or rather they weren't looking for _him, _they were looking for a genius, billionaire, philanthropist superhero. They'd already had the playboy.

Mark shrugged. "It pays the bills. Coffee? Pancakes?"

"Coffee. Please," he said, a little too eagerly, and Mark shot him an amused glance before he turned away to pour a cup. He waited until Tony had it to his lips before saying lightly "So, I know this is awkward, but what was your name again?"

Tony choked, and it was a second before he realised Mark was laughing.

"Man, your _face_," he chuckled. "Sorry, but you had that panicked post-sex, must-escape look on your face and I just couldn't resist messing with you. I know who you are, Tony." He looked curious. "Does anyone ever not recognise you?"

"Occasionally," he said with a shrug. "Not in New York, though. Not for a while."

"Huh." Mark's brow was furrowed. "That must be difficult. Finding space to be yourself, I mean."

It wasn't some deep insight. So he didn't know why his chest suddenly felt tight. "Yeah. Well. With me, what you see is what you get."

"I doubt that," Mark said, gazing at him.

Tony looked down. "Good coffee by the way," he said, deflecting awkwardly.

Mark laughed. "Alright. So I need to go to work, like I said, but I was wondering if you might do me a favour?"

He braced himself. Here it came. The request for money, or support for a cause, or help with his career, or an introduction to someone else.

"There's a classic car show on this Saturday," Mark went on. "I've been saving up my money for a few years and now I've got enough to buy something _nice. _Now, I know enough to avoid lemons, but I was wondering if you would mind coming along and helping me look? I want the best."

Tony blinked. "You want me to come along and look at cars with you?"

"Who better to ask than the world's best engineer?" Mark shrugged, and Tony felt warm inside. "Besides, it'll be fun. I love car shows, don't you?"

He did. And it did sound fun. And it wasn't exactly a date, was it, it was just...date-like. "Sure," he said smiling. "Why not?"

Mark grinned. "Great. And afterwards, I'll buy you dinner."

He couldn't remember the last time someone had offered to buy him dinner. "Sounds good," he admitted.

"It'll be – shit!" Mark glanced at his watch. "I _really _need to go. Let yourself out and help yourself to anything in the kitchen. It's the tall tower with 'Avengers' written on top, right?"

"You can't miss it," Tony agreed dryly.

Mark shook his head, amused. "You are so obvious," he said, and while Tony was still figuring out what that was supposed to mean, Mark grabbed his head and thoroughly kissed him. "Now that's a good thought to take to work to me," he said with satisfaction. "See you."

"See you," Tony echoed as he watched Mark run out the door. Well, that had been different. He leaned back against the counter and a slow smile spread across his face. He felt good. For the first time since Pepper left, he felt something other than pain and loss and numbness.

By the time he got home, there were a dozen new improvements to the Iron Man armour floating in his head, and he headed straight to his workshop, turned the music up and set to work.

This might just be something worth trying to hold onto.


	2. Chapter 2

Over the past week there had been a change in the way Tony acted, and Steve couldn't help but think it was an improvement. He hadn't been drinking anywhere near as much, and while he'd still been going out, there hadn't been any fresh scandals. It had occurred to him that it could just be the mainstream media had finally got tired of the subject, so he'd asked Natasha to do a little digging, and apparently the closest thing to perversion she'd found over the last week had been a picture of Tony gawping at an ugly car at some classic car show. Not that anything considered classic these days would come close to Steve's definition. A 1932 Indian Scout motorcycle, now _that _was a classic. Nothing else compared. But that was hardly the point; the thing was Stark seemed happy. He smiled a lot more, he was more inclined to spend his down time with the rest of the team, and while he still talked a mile a minute it no longer had that distracted edge to it, like Tony wasn't really listening to himself. Really, he seemed back to the way he had been in the weeks after the battle of New York, and it made Steve glad.

"You seem very cheerful of late, my friend," Thor commented as they all sat down to dinner. "Has something happened?"

Steve leaned forwards, curious to hear the answer and noticed with amusement that the others all did the same.

Tony smiled. "We-ell," he said, drawing out the word like he couldn't wait to tell them. "I've sort of started seeing someone. Dating someone," he clarified, in answer to Thor's briefly confused look.

Oh. Steve frowned and resisted the urge to ask '_So soon?'_ He remembered the pictures of Miss Potts and Mr Hogan together. In circumstances, he could hardly blame Tony for moving on quickly.

"Wait, dating?" Clint exclaimed mockingly. "Like same person consecutive nights? Are we sure this is really Stark, and not an imposter?"

The last thing they wanted was to make Stark feel uncomfortable about being more stable. He opened his mouth to tell Clint off, but Thor beat him to it.

"The pursuit of romantic love is a noble and worthy cause," he scolded. "Why would you seek to deny our shield brother that?"

"Woah, it's three dates," Tony protested. "Well, three and a half...plus coffee. If coffee counts. Any any rate, it's too early to be dropping the 'l' word."

"Seriously, what can I do if I can't make fun of your slutty ways anymore?" Clint asked sulkily. "I'll need to move on to making fun of your height instead. You think I haven't noticed you're a good four inches taller in the suit? I know the armour isn't that thick. What, did you put lifts in that thing?"

Tony scowled. "JARVIS, initiate program four, delta, epsilon," he said loudly.

"Of course, sir," the AI said smoothly.

"Wait," Clint's eyes were wide. "What did you do?"

"You'll find out," Tony said smugly.

"No, really, what did you do?" Clint demanded.

Tony smirked. "Don't be surprised if from now on when you go through doors the Robin Hood theme starts playing."

"_What?_" Clint exclaimed. "Shit. Just in the tower, right?"

"Mostly in the tower," Tony said with a shrug. "Also in the helicarrier, in some shops, and a few other places. I forget the details."

"You can't do that." Clint turned to the rest of them. "Tell him he can't do that."

Steve leaned back and laughed as he watched the ensuing argument fondly. It was playful, not prickly. For the first time in a while, there was no bite behind the words.

Later, he took the chance to talk to Tony in private. "I'm glad you've found someone," he said sincerely. "You seem to have calmed down. I guess this girl is a good influence on you."

Tony looked at him thoughtfully. "He's not a girl."

"Oh!" Steve blinked, not quite sure why he was surprised. He supposed he had thought that when it came to actual romance, Tony would go for a girl. "Oh, well, I guess _he's _a good influence on you. It seems you're better in a relationship." He winced; that had come out wrong.

But Tony just nodded. "Thanks, Steve. I've got to go. I got to finish the schematics for the new reactor before I meet Mark for drinks later."

"You should bring him over at some point," Steve called after him as he walked away. If this guy was good for Tony, then Steve wanted to be as encouraging and supportive as possible.

* * *

It was their fourth date – or fourth and a half, if you wanted to count the night they'd met – and Mark had taken him out to a little Italian restaurant near his place. It was nice, and not the sort of place he would usually eat. His regular hangouts tended to be either unbelievably expensive and exclusive, or cheap diners and hole-in-the-wall eateries where everything came with a thick layer of grease. But Mark seemed to prefer to pay and to choose where they went, and that was enough of a novelty that he was content to show up where and when he was told. Most of his previous dates had expected him to arrange – pay for – everything, and Pepper had liked consensus. So now he was in a new world of restaurants that that _did _have a wine list but it was only a page at the back of the regular menu. It was all new to him.

He'd tried to explain that to Mark, but Mark had just laughed and shook his head. "Welcome to the real world, Tony."

One good thing about this kind of place was that no one expected him to eat here. The press had been all over this new relationship. A couple of the late night shows had set up odds on how long it was going to last, and just how he was going to make everything crash and burn. The odds on favourite involved cocaine, a fast jet and Vegas hookers dressed in Iron Man costumes. He'd been with Mark the night they'd shown that and he'd seen the way Mark's jaw clenched.

Everyone seemed to think he should be in a relationship – this relationship – but no one seemed to think he could make it work. And truthfully, neither did he. He knew full well he was a fuck up, but he wasn't going to give up without trying, and he certainly wasn't planning on letting it end with cheap hookers in latex armour.

Dinner was good – he could see why Mark liked this place – and they talked a little about family and Mark's sister's kid in particular.

"She's a massive Avengers fan, particularly Iron Man," he explained, leaning over the table. "She must have at least four Iron Man dolls, and a plushie. At least she has good taste. You can fly. Who wouldn't want that?"

Tony preened. "Well, I am awesome," he admitted. Then he frowned. "Wait, they're making plushies now?"

Mark laughed. "I'll get you one," he promised. "They don't fly though."

"I could fix that," Tony shrugged.

"What's it like?" Mark asked curiously.

"Flying?" He paused, thinking. "It's amazing. It's nothing like being in a plane. It It feels so free." He hesitated. "Maybe I'll take you up some time. The suit's okay to carry passengers, as long as I don't go too high or too fast."

"Gotta say, no one's ever made me that offer before," Mark smiled.

Tony was about to make a whole different offer when his phone suddenly started ringing. He sighed. "Sorry, I got to take this. It's Pepper."

Mark frowned. "Don't answer," he said tersely.

He grimaced, he supposed he could understand Mark feeling a bit jealous. "It's not...I asked her to call. It's important. We've got a problem with our European distribution branch. We could be looking at a product recall."

"Don't. Answer. It," Mark repeated, his face thunderous.

"I have to," Tony said with an apologetic shrug that wasn't that apologetic. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

Luckily the call didn't last long and it was all business until the end. Though honestly, most of their conversations were these days. They were talking about products that hadn't gone on general sale yet, and the problem was relatively minor. It was still going to hurt their reputation though. The share price would fall; he'd have to come up with something innovative in the next few weeks to balance it out.

They were trying to stay professional, but he was still hung from the way Mark had talked to him, and she had always been good at reading him. "Tony, what's wrong?" she asked as they were finishing up.

"Nothing," he said quietly. He sighed, weighing up his options for a moment before deciding to take the plunge. "I was on a date."

"Oh." Her voice was small and the subsequent silence stretched out for an uncomfortable moment. "Well, that's great," she said at last brightly. "Is it the same guy as before? I saw the pictures."

"Yeah," he said awkwardly. "His name's Mark."

"He looked nice," Pepper told him. "You should get back to him. Tell him I'm sorry to disturb the two of you." She had that brittle tone in her voice that meant she was unhappy and trying her best to hide it.

She had left him. Why was she upset that he was moving on? Except he still wanted her to be happy more than anything else. "Pepper - "

" - go, Tony," she interrupted. "Go enjoy yourself. I'll talk to you later." She hung up. He stared at the phone for a second before heading back to the table.

"That's everything sorted," he started to say breezily before he saw the way Mark was staring at him coldly across the table.

"Are you sure?" he asked pointedly. "I mean, I would want our date to get in the way of you talking to your ex girlfriend."

"I told you, it was important," Tony reminded him. "Product recalls don't happen very often and they're a big deal."

"Stop pretending to be so reasonable," Mark snapped. "That doesn't mean it had to be dealt with right now. And surely you could have that sort of conversation by email, or through your staff or whatever. There was no need to interrupt _our dinner._ When I'm with you, I want you to be paying attention to _me. _Is that really so much to ask?"

It shouldn't, be, he knew. And he supposed he could see Mark's point. He could have just waited until Pepper dropped him an email, it was just that he'd rather know what was happening

"God, you're so _selfish,_" Mark burst out when he didn't say anything, his voice just a little too loud in the crowded restaurant. Thankfully no one seemed to be paying too much attention. He already wanted to sink through the floor. When he caused a scene, he wanted it to be _his _scene. "I know you think you're the centre of the universe, but spare us lesser mortals a thought every now and then, huh?"

"It was _one _phonecall," he protested. "I took less than five minutes. We still have the rest of the night to ourselves."

"That's not the point," Mark glared. "I just don't believe you sometimes. She's the CEO right? Surely that means you don't have much to do with the day to day running of the company."

He blinked. "Uh, I still own it," he pointed out. "My name's still on everything we make. I like to keep up to date."

"With the company?" Mark asked snidely. "Or with Pepper? You said you asked her to call. Have you even considered how that must look to her? You're sniffing around your ex and it's pathetic. Jesus, Tony, grow a pair, can't you?"

"What?!" He didn't understand where this was coming from. "No, it's not like that." It wasn't, was it? Was it possible he was subconsciously making up excuses to talk to Pepper? He did miss her. They'd been together for so long before they were ever together, and now he never saw her and barely spoke to her. "I've moved on," he said weakly.

Mark's lip curled. "If you say so," he said. Let's not argue, okay? The waiter came by when you were gone. I ordered you the bruschetta and the seafood linguine. You'll love it."

"I don't like - " he started to say, but stopped at Mark's irritated glance. Right. Not arguing. He took a deep breath and reminded himself it wasn't worth it. Afghanistan had pretty much cured him of being precious over food anyway. He'd known exactly what had gone into his sporadic meals there, because they'd taken great pleasure in telling him, and after a while he hadn't even needed to fight down his gag reflex. "That's fine," he said instead. "Thank you."

"We can always call the waiter back and change it," Mark offered guiltily. "I'm sure they won't mind."

"Nah, it really is fine," he said with a cautious smile. "It's good to try new things, right?"

They talked for a while about less dangerous territory. There were talks about a movie coming out based on the battle of New York, and apparently Johnny Depp was in negotiations to play Loki, which was just the sort of casting that made Tony's head hurt.

"What was he like?" Mark asked in a whisper. "Close up, I mean?"

Tony thought back to those moments in the penthouse. "Crazy," he said honestly. "I mean, powerful as hell, but when you got close up you could see the bag of squirrels squirming behind his eyes. He wanted to take over the world, but I'm not so sure he had any kind of thought on what happened next."

"Huh." Mark sat back and looked at him steadily. "You know, every now and then, I remember that I'm fucking someone who went toe-to-toe with an actual god."

"I'm not sure he's actually a god," Tony said with a shrug. "But it's two, actually, if you want to think about it that way. Me and Thor went a couple of rounds before we got things straightened out."

"Still." Mark said slowly. "I like it. Makes me feel powerful."

"Oh yeah?" He smirked. "You like that feeling, you should come along to one of our training sessions some time. Watch me spar with Cap and Thor."

"That's if I ever get an invite inside the tower, right?" Mark asked lightly.

He hesitated. "Sorry. It's not just up to me," he offered. Except it pretty much was, and it was certainly him that wasn't quite sure if he was ready to invite someone into the bed he and Pepper had shared. It was easier keeping Mark on the outside. He just knew it wasn't fair.

They ate in silence for a while and gradually he became aware of Mark staring at him contemplatively. "Would you tell me why Pepper dumped you? Do you think maybe you were too needy for her? Because you can be very selfish."

His mouth hung open for a moment. He knew that people normally talked about their previous relationships at some point, but that seemed completely out of left field.

"Sorry," Mark said tightly. "That was a little more blunt than I intended. I was just thinking...everything always has to be on your terms, you notice that?"

He remembered times when he'd woken Pepper up at some ungodly hour because he'd made something and wanted her to see it immediately, and other times when he'd cling to her for hours after the nightmares woke him up. Pepper said she'd left him because she wasn't strong enough to take the constant danger and worry. Maybe she would have felt stronger if he hadn't been so...needy.

He shook his head. "I don't want to talk about that," he said, his voice steady with a noticeable effort. "Please."

Mark's eyes softened. little "Yeah, you're right. I'm sorry. This isn't the time or place. You just make me crazy sometimes, that's all. Just...don't take any more calls from your exes while we're together."

"You jealous?" he asked, trying to sound seductive and succeeding in sounding tentative. "Because you don't need to be. Me and Pepper are over." Nothing left there but the heartbreak.

"I know," Mark said with a shrug. "But it doesn't change the way I feel. I'm a man, I can't help it. It's bad enough that whenever we're together I know I'm sharing you with half of New York. It's like boldly going where everyone has been before, you know?" He laughed.

Tony didn't.

"What's the matter?" Mark frowned, catching his eye. "That was a Star Trek joke. You love Star Trek jokes."

"We met because you pick up strangers in bars," Tony pointed out coldly. "You're not exactly pure as the driven snow yourself."

Mark shrugged, still laughing. "Yeah, well, there aren't websites dedicated to tracking my sexual exploits. Face it, Tony, you're a complete whore and everyone knows it. Luckily, I don't mind. Just that sometimes when I think about your past I get the urge to hold you down and pour bleach all over you. Joking, joking," he added quickly, holding his hands up appeasingly.

Right. And somehow he found that even less funny than the Star Trek joke. Thing was, he felt like if he said anything he'd come across as over-sensitive, or worse, ashamed. And he wasn't ashamed of his past; like he'd said to Steve, he liked sex. But he knew other people didn't see it that way. All the practice that made him a fantastic proposition for a one night stand made him a lousy prospective partner. If Mark didn't mind, he should embrace that, even if it came with a side of inappropriate humour. After all, inappropriate humour was _his _thing. He should be able to take it as well as dish it out.

"Funny," he said lightly. He still felt uncomfortable about a lot of what Mark had said, but there wasn't really anything he could point at and say that was wrong. He was a lot to put up with. And he hadn't worked hard enough to keep his relationship with Pepper alive, he was damned if he was going to screw this up before it even got started. He could take some constructive criticism. "And I promise. No more calls from Pepper during dates."

"Thank you," Mark said, his eyes warm. "See? I knew there was a good person there somewhere."

Tony knew he wasn't a good person. But he was _trying _and no matter the circumstances, it always felt good hearing someone else acknowledge that.

Unfortunately right at that moment his phone played a loud alarm. He reached for it automatically, and Mark's eyes grew frosty.

"It's not Pepper," he explained tersely, already reading the message and watching the accompanying video footage. He glanced across the table. "Someone's been creating smog monsters in Detroit. Now, I'm inclined to say it's Detroit, and no one will notice, but Cap's pretty sure the situation needs the Avengers."

He was babbling slightly, he knew. He'd seen how angry Mark was that he'd taken a call. He couldn't imagine actually ditching him altogether was going to go down well. But to his surprise, Mark just nodded calmly and stood up. "The suitcase armour's in the back of the car, right?"

"Uh, yeah," Tony agreed, caught off guard.

"Okay then," Mark said, gathering up their coats. "Go. I'll settle everything up here."

He was so accepting. There wasn't a trace left of the anger or the hurt and jealousy. Tony felt a hundred times lighter. "Thanks," he said with a crooked smile.

Mark grinned. "I'll be watching on the news. Be careful And if you can't be careful, be amazing."

"Hey, I'm always amazing," he threw back as he jogged out of the restaurant. Suddenly he was feeling in a far better mood to go save Detroit.

* * *

Natasha couldn't help but feel amused at the situation. They were all gathered in the lounge, trying their best to look casual while they waited for Tony and Mark. Of course, the situation was actually far from casual. There was far less junk lying around for a start, and Steve was actually wearing a tie.

"We should have made dinner," he fretted.

Natasha looked at him. "Tony said they're going out to dinner after the movie premiere," she reminded him. "This is supposed to be a quick 'hi' before they go out. Why does it matter to you?"

"I want us to make a good first impression," Steve said simply.

"The guy's met Stark and he didn't run away screaming," Clint pointed out from his perch on the back of the sofa. "I think we can assume he's immune to first impressions."

But Natasha understood where Steve was coming from. Stark was undoubtedly much more settled and productive when he was in a committed relationship, and that was the version of Tony Stark that was an asset to the team. It therefore behoved them to do everything in their power to ensure the success of this relationship, and that wasn't even taking into account the regrettably sentimental fact that she actually liked Stark well enough to prefer that he was happy. She rather imagined that was Steve's main reasoning. For such a brilliant tactical thinker, he was amazingly straightforwards sometimes, but she liked that about him.

"See, this is why I never bring anyone home," Clint went on.

Natasha raised an eyebrow. "That's not the reason."

"I cannot help but wonder," Thor remarked from his place making the second sofa look tiny. "If this nervousness was present before you all met my lady Jane?"

"Uh, not really," Dr Banner said dryly. "You just showed up with her and then the pair of you vanished into your room for forty six hours. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but it does sort of change the meaning of the first meeting awkwardness."

Thor shrugged. "It had been many days since I had enjoyed the wonder of her embrace."

"Oh, no one was objecting," Clint reassured him. "We just got to wondering if we should be sending up food. And gatorade."

"Anthony did," Thor said brightly. "It was most appreciated."

Natasha bit her lip. The trouble was, she had no idea whether that was a nice gesture on Stark's part or a mocking one. It was very difficult to make out his motivations, even for her. She suspected he didn't know why he did things half the time.

The door swung open and Tony walked in, followed by another man Natasha assumed to be Mark. Under the guise of a welcoming smile, she looked him over critically. Tall, dark-haired, dark-eyed – so far so fairytale. Handsome, of course, but she wouldn't expect anything else from Stark. Around Stark's own age, give or take, which was a relief – at least this sudden shift in sexual orientation wasn't some midlife crisis. Well built, but then the basic background check she'd ran had mentioned he was an FBI agent. She hadn't dug too deep into his history – she no more cared who Stark's boyfriend slept with than she cared who Stark himself slept with. But she wanted to know that he wasn't affiliated with any known enemies of SHIELD, the Avengers or Stark Industries, and that he didn't have any criminal convictions. After all, this was going to involve him knowing their civilian names, which might be very far from the best kept secret she'd ever had, but she still didn't want them broadcast everywhere.

"Mark, I guess you know everyone by sight, but this is Steve, Natasha, Bruce, Clint and Thor," Tony announced breezily. "Guys, this is Mark. Try not to traumatise him."

There was a chorus of hellos, and Steve stepped forwards to shake Mark's hand. "It's swell to finally meet you," he said," he said, and Natasha hid the smirk. In social situations where he felt uncomfortable Steve's vocabulary tended to jump back seventy years.

"It's an honour to meet you," Mark said, sounding sincere as he shook Steve's hand. "Though I've got to admit, seeing Captain America in a tie is odd."

"You're just disappointed he isn't wearing the tights," Tony smirked.

The remark was inappropriate, but not so much as to make Steve do more than laugh and shake his head at Tony. Natasha supposed he'd probably heard every remark about the uniform imaginable.

But she'd been watching Mark and just for a second there was an ugly, angry look in his eyes. It barely lasted any time at all – so much so that if she'd been anyone else she'd probably have thought she might have imagined it. But she hadn't, and for a moment she was slightly concerned until she realised that Tony had twisted slightly, angling his body towards Mark's, his body language relaxed and reassuring. Clearly he'd noticed the anger as well and didn't see anything to worry about. Well, if he wasn't concerned, there was no need for her to be.

The next half hour or so passed quickly, thankfully. Natasha did not particularly enjoy making conversation with strangers as herself. But at least the others were more than capable of carrying a conversation. They talked a little about Mark's work, and at least an FBI agent was something Natasha could understand. She'd asked Dr Foster about her work and been lost inside a minute. And then the conversation moved to life on Asgard, which was basically inevitable – anyone meeting Thor for the first time always wanted to know what life was like on another world. But somehow Thor's description of a particular metal found there sparked something in Tony, and soon he was talking a mile a minute about the potential applications, and how if what Thor said was accurate it could completely revolutionise circuit board designs and make computers run one thousand percent faster.

"Shut up, Tony," Mark said after a couple of minutes. Natasha narrowed her eyes. He was smiling, but his tone was completely serious and there was something in it that suggested that he expected to be obeyed. And he was.

Clint laughed. "Huh. Do you think you could do that on missions?"

After all, Natasha had heard Pepper tell Tony to be quiet in similar circumstances. Though her voice had been full of exasperated affection. But perhaps this was simply something Stark needed from relationships. As Clint said, it was difficult to get him to shut up any other way, and she remembered her conjecture about Stark's one night stands. Maybe someone else had to take control.

Exasperated affection or a need for discipline. What was she missing here?

* * *

This would be the tenth night they'd spent together, not that Tony was counting. But it was the first night they'd spent together at the tower, and for some reason that made him a little nervous. Nervous was not really a feeling he was used to, and he didn't care for it much. He didn't even know _why. _But Mark was here in his space, inspecting every inch of the penthouse curiously, and Tony stood and watched as he ran his hands over the piano, eyed up the pile of computers, tablets and wires that he really should have cleared up, and casually opened his desk drawers, dismissing the contents with a glance.

They were supposed to be a couple now, he reminded himself. This was normal, he knew that. Pepper had hated how possessive he could get. Everything they'd owned had been his. Twelve percent of the tower was hers, but she'd deserved more. He didn't want to make the same mistake twice, so he didn't say anything.

"You really don't live in the real world, do you?" Mark asked, shaking his head in amazement.

"Well, I live with an alien god, a big green rage monster and a super hero from the forties, so no, I'm not sure how much 'real' comes into it," Tony answered flippantly.

Mark looked up at him, his brow furrowed. "I'm not talking about them, I'm talking about you. Take this sofa. How much did it cost? Do you even know?"

He shrugged uncomfortably. "I pay someone to pick stuff out. I didn't know you were into interior design. Way to avoid being stereotypical."

"A family could probably pay their rent for a year with what this costs," Mark told him disapprovingly.

"Well, that's New York rent control for you," he said with another shrug. This was stupid. Yes, he was ridiculously rich. Mark had known that going in. Did he really expect him not to spend it? He supposed at least Mark obviously wasn't after his money. That was something, right?

Mark gave him a disappointed look. "You're a spoilt brat, Tony," he said matter-of-factly. "You have no idea what it's like to struggle to pay rent, or to go hungry. You ever think that's why you can't relate to people?" He walked past Tony and reached out towards the Mark 7 that was standing on display or on guard in the corner.

"Don't touch that," Tony snapped before he could help himself.

Mark froze and with exaggerated movements took a step back. "Sorry," he drawled sarcastically. "Jeez, are you always like this in here? I can see why your 'friends' are so annoyed with you."

That really derailed his train of thought. "What? No they're not."

"You haven't even noticed," Mark said with a sigh. "Why am I not surprised?" You can't blame them if this is how you normally act – all '_this is my stuff and my tower and you can't touch it.' _It must get annoying. Like a five year old with a candy bar."

"Uh, it is my stuff," Tony pointed out.

Mark rolled his eyes. "Like I said. Annoying. Tony, selfishness is never an attractive quality. You need to tone it down or your friends will get sick of you pretty quickly."

He scoffed. "Right. And I'm going to take that from someone who only just met them tonight? I think I know them better than you do."

"Oh, Tony," Mark sighed. "You're very good with machines, but can you really say dealing with people is your thing?"

It wasn't, of course. And the anger had died away from Mark's voice leaving only cold compassion and he struggled to think that Mark was being unfair. They weren't really that annoyed with him, were they? They would have said something. Except they _had _said something...but he thought he'd changed. What if it wasn't enough?

"No," he answered tersely, shaking his head. "But that doesn't mean - "

" - I'm an FBI agent, Tony," Mark reminded him. "I'm good at reading people. That's what I do. Their body language tells me everything I need to know. And besides, there have been plenty of interviews with the Avengers and it's all there, in black and white."

"Yeah, I think if any of those interviews had said '_I don't like Tony Stark' _I would have heard about it by now," he pointed out.

Mark looked at him and bit his lip. "I don't know if I should say this. I mean, if you haven't noticed, it's not really my place to - "

" - What?" Tony demanded. What had he missed?

"You're barely mentioned in those interviews," Mark explained gently. "They're full of praise for Iron Man. Tony Stark is an afterthought."

He almost laughed. "I am Iron Man," he declared.

"To you, yes," Mark agreed. "But let's be honest; Iron Man is just tech. Brilliant tech, but nothing more than that. It's the person flying it which matters to the public – to your team – and that could be almost anyone."

"But it's me," Tony snarled. Natasha and Fury's voices echoing in his head. Iron Man yes, Tony Stark not recommended. Was that what everyone thought? "It's always been me."

"But it doesn't have to be," Mark answered swiftly. "I'm just saying, to the average Joe it doesn't matter who _built _something as long as it's useful. No one cares, I mean do you really think anyone knows who built Captain America's shield, or Hawkeye's bow?"

"My father built the shield," Tony said automatically. "And I built the bow Hawkeye's using at the moment. His last one got eaten by a dragon."

"No one knows that though, Tony. No one care's, that's my point. But everyone knows who built the Iron Man suit and this tower, because you never shut up about it. And that's what's annoying. That's what turns people off about you."

He felt like he was losing ground here and he didn't even know exactly what they were fighting about. "I do make things though," he tried. "What's wrong with being proud of my work?" He closed his eyes. "How'd we get onto this anyway?" he asked, bewildered. "I thought we were having a nice evening?" Everything had been normal at dinner, and they'd enjoyed the movie.

"We were," Mark said at once. "And then we got back here and you immediately started getting weird and selfish." He hesitated. "Do you just not like me in your space?" he asked in a rush.

"It's not that," Tony reassured him at once. "I don't know. I guess I'm just being weird, I'm sorry." He didn't feel like he'd done anything wrong, but he often felt that way, even when the rest of the world disagreed. Everyone said Mark was good for him.

"Hey," Mark said gently. "Don't get upset, okay? I'm just saying this stuff for your own good. You really have your head shoved up your own ass sometimes, that's all. And if anything should be stuck up your ass..."

Tony managed a reluctant laugh.

"I want to help you," Mark went on earnestly, crossing the room and laying his hands on Tony's upper arms, gripping lightly like he wasn't sure if he wanted to embrace him or shake him. "I know you could be so much better than this."

"Some days it doesn't feel like I could be much worse," he said with a crooked smile. He didn't know what to think. On the one hand, Mark sounded sincere, and some of the things he said made sense, but on the other hand...on the other hand, what? He didn't like hearing them? Wasn't that sort of the definition of uncomfortable truth? He already knew he was selfish and vain and arrogant. But Pepper had known that too, and she'd never have talked to him like that. She'd never have made him feel so shitty. But then, maybe if she had been a little more straightforward and honest about her feelings he would have been able to improve, and things would have been different.

He didn't know. But Mark was looking at him expectantly, his eyes gentle and hopeful, and what else was Tony supposed to do? Kick him out for saying what he thought?

With a sigh, he leaned forwards, resting his head on Mark's shoulder. "Okay," he mumbled, his voice muffled. "I'll try."

"That's all I ask," Mark said, rubbing his thumb roughly down the side of Tony's face. "Now, why don't we go through to the bedroom and you can show me just how unselfish you can be."

He really wasn't in the mood, for once. But it was like Mark said. Sometimes it was more important not to be selfish, and he resolved to go out of his way to rock Mark's world.

* * *

That wasn't the last argument they had. Over the next few weeks, Tony discovered that there were more ways than even _he'd _imagined in which he was selfish and inconsiderate, and Mark veered between anger and frustration, and gentle patience.

He didn't know how to react. So much of what Mark said chimed in exactly with all the dark, self-loathing thoughts in his head, and after a while he found it difficult to even try arguing, especially when everyone else seemed to agree with Mark. He was an arrogant self-centred asshole, a careless and insensitive lover, and an all around worthless person and he _knew _all that. Mark just wanted to help him be better. But at the same time, he didn't feel like he was getting better. Every time Mark pointed out another of his flaws, or told him how much he was irritating the people around him, he felt worse, and he found himself watching the others anxiously, wondering what effect he was having on them.

He hated that. He hated second guessing himself and when Steve gave him a warm smile during a training session and complimented him on how much more focused he'd been lately, and teasingly asked if that was Mark's influence, he had to bite down on his anger. Maybe it was, but was there no way anyone thought he could be a better person on his own? Was that completely out of the question?

Later that night, after a couple of hours spent sitting in the dark, brooding and drinking forty year-old whisky from the bottle, he headed round to Mark's place.

"You've been drinking," Mark frowned as he let him in.

"Yeah," he said with a shrug. "Little bit. You still got that wine in the fridge?"

"Is something wrong, Tony?" Mark asked, as he wandered past him into the kitchen. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He didn't answer. He didn't want to talk about anything. "D'you want a glass"?

Mark took a step forwards and put a warning hand on the fridge. "You don't need another drink. What's wrong?"

"Everyone thinks you're good for me," Tony said, staring at him. "Everyone thinks you're going to make me a better person."

"Well that's good, isn't it?" Mark smiled. "Your boyfriend _should _make you a better person. I'm certainly going to try."

"And when do I get to change you?" Tony snapped.

Mark sighed with exaggerated patience. "What do you think I need to change about myself? Really, I want to know, because I'll certainly take anything a belligerent drunk says into consideration."

"Well, maybe you can stop being so fucking patronising, for a start," he spat.

"I'm going to ignore that," Mark told him coldly, walking past him towards the sink. "God, Tony, you get so stupid when you're drunk. Here, I'll get you a glass of water and you can sit down and try and sober up."

He took advantage of the moment to reach into the fridge and grab the wine bottle.

"Put that down!" Mark ordered harshly.

"No," he said with a victorious smile, tilting the bottle back towards his mouth. Mark stormed across the kitchen and grabbed it out of his hands. "Hey!" he protested, trying to snatch it back.

He saw the fist coming. He just didn't quite believe it until he was already on the floor, sat on his ass and staring up at Mark in numb confusion, the pain blooming in his face.

"You hit me," he said, bewildered. "You hit me."

Mark was just standing there, looking down at him, a strange mix of irritation and satisfaction on his face, and Tony felt the reality of the situation slipping away from him. He would have known how to react if Mark had been shocked, or remorseful, but Mark was just looking at him like nothing was wrong.

"Get up, Tony," Mark said with a sigh, holding out a hand to help him. "You're alright. I barely touched you."

Tony shook his head and scrambled to his feet on his own, staying well clear of Mark. "You're not supposed to hit me," he said, and he sounded too uncertain. He pressed his hand against his face and already his eye was almost swollen shut.

"I only hit you because you were being unreasonable," Mark said gently. "When you drink like this, you're hurting yourself and you're hurting me, not to mention your friends." He sounded sincere and disappointed, and Tony felt ashamed. "Come on, now. Sit down and I'll put some ice on it. Let me take care of you, Tony." He reached out as if to take Tony's hand, and Tony flinched away.

The look of hurt on Mark's face was almost unbearable. It made him feel like a complete bastard.

This was still wrong, wasn't it? No matter how stupid he was being, no matter what he'd done, Mark still wasn't supposed to hurt him. So why was he the one feeling guilty?

"No," he said, shaking his head. "No. I'm leaving. I don't know if I can do this. Don't call me."

He headed for the door. Mark didn't try to stop him. He couldn't tell if he was relieved or disappointed.

* * *

The latest round of experiments was going well, and part of Bruce was desperately clamouring to move onto human testing as soon as possible. He wasn't going to though; he'd well and truly learned that lesson. His current situation was pretty good, after all. He had somewhere to call home, friends who trusted him, space to work and all the resources he could possibly imagine, and he didn't have to keep looking over his shoulder to see who was coming after him. There was a lot he could make worse here. But still, there was a lot he could make better, and he really thought if these experiments worked, he could alter the nature of the transformation slightly, and removing the pain and trauma was bound to make the other guy calmer, and that would make him more useful to the Avengers.

At any rate, he was very busy and he was a little annoyed when, right when he was watching for a spike in radiation from sample X329, he heard the door open behind him and footsteps stumble in.

He didn't look round. Yes, he could always look back at the results from the monitoring equipment, but this was important and he wanted the answers as soon as possible.

"Uh, hi," Tony's voice said quietly. "You're busy, aren't you?"

He sighed and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. This wasn't what he wanted to deal with right now. Just doing this experiment had him on edge, and he would swear he could feel the other guy stomping around beneath his skin. But Tony was his friend, and Tony had been very good to him, and he wasn't going to turn him away. "What's wrong?"

"I had a...fight...with Mark," Tony said, sounding hesitant and ashamed.

Of course it would be something like that. Tony's grasp on relationships was somewhere around a high school junior level. "Have you apologised?" he asked.

There was a brief silence. "No-o," Tony said slowly. "Why should...why do you think it's my fault?"

"Experience," he said lightly, but Tony wasn't laughing. He frowned, about to turn round and give the conversation his full attention when a sudden movement on screen took his attention. What the hell? That wasn't a spike, it was a wave. That wasn't what was supposed to happen. "Well, what was the fight about?" he asked absently, his mind running a mile a minute.

"He didn't want me drinking," Tony told him.

What?

Unconsciously, he clenched his fists around the edge of the bench. "You've been drinking?" he said slowly. "You've been drinking and you came in here?"

"Oh, fuck," Tony swore. "I forgot. Sorry."

The anger was whispering through Bruce's head. "It's the one thing I asked you, Tony," he said, his voice rising. "Don't come in here when you're drunk. How hard is that? You're so irresponsible!"

"Bruce..." He could hear Tony shifting uneasily. He didn't look round. He didn't dare look round. His heart was pounding in his chest and he was staring down at his hands and there was the faintest tinge of green spreading out from his veins. Not now. Not here. Not when he might risk hurting Tony. Tony was irresponsible, but he'd never deserve that.

"Get out," he said hoarsely. "_Quickly. _Please."

There was an agonising moment of hesitation, and then he heard the door open and close as Tony walked away. Thank God.

He took some deep breaths, and kept his eyes closed until he was calm and the other guy had faded into the background. That had been too close. He'd need to track Tony down and apologise, later when Tony would be sober and he could be more certain of his control. It wasn't even Tony's fault, really. Bruce's issues with alcohol had nothing to do with him, and everything to do with Bruce's father, and he already knew Tony was nothing like him. Tony didn't hurt people when he was drunk, not like that anyway.

It was funny. When Bruce wasn't in control, Tony still liked and trusted him, but somehow Bruce couldn't do the same. It made him feel like a lousy friend.

With a sigh, he turned his attention back to the monitor. If he couldn't be a good friend, he could at least work on being a better team mate.

* * *

He'd managed to find his way back to his workshop, despite the fact that he was shaking. He sat slumped against the door, his knees drawn up to his chest. "JARVIS, has Hulk made an appearance?" he managed to ask hoarsely.

"No, sir," JARVIS told him comfortingly. "Dr Banner is currently still in his laboratory, checking the results of his experiment."

Oh. "That's good," he said, pressing his hand against his eye. It hurt, and he could feel the blood oozing against his fingers. Bruce hadn't seen that, though. He might have reacted differently if he had, but then he'd been so angry at Tony drinking that he didn't even know anymore.

"Sir?" JARVIS asked hesitantly. "What happened to you?"

Maybe this really was his fault. He could admit that he'd been behaving badly, and if it was enough to make Bruce worry about hulking out, maybe one little punch wasn't too much to complain about. And now he just felt ashamed of everything. He wasn't angry with Bruce, so why should he be angry with Mark?

"I fell," he said, testing out the lie. "Against some railings. Because I'd been drinking."

"Sir, I really would prefer if you didn't lie to me," JARVIS told him, but his voice was gentle and Dummy brought him over an ice pack, and Tony felt his eyes prickle.

"Don't ask," he said quietly, taking the ice pack and pressing it to his face. "Please."

"Very well, sir," JARVIS said, and You brought him over a blanket from the sofa and pressed it hopefully against his chest.

What was wrong with him? Why was it the only people on his side were the ones he had created to be on his side?

Maybe it was because he was in the wrong. Always. Enough that Bruce assumed that he should be the one apologising, and maybe that meant that he should be.

He had showed up to Mark's place drunk. That was wrong. And he'd sworn at him and said some unpleasant things, and insisted on drinking more even when Mark had asked him not to. That was enough to make anyone mad, right? And Mark had just hit him once, just enough to make him stop, and he'd been going to take care of Tony afterwards, before Tony had stormed out, anyway. He was starting to feel like he'd overreacted.

Suppose Mark thought they were over? This was a stupid way for things to end, wasn't it? It was one mistake, and he'd provoked it.

He sighed and let the ice pack fall, reaching into his pocket for his phone. It was a long moment before he dialled Mark's number, and an even longer moment before Mark picked up.

"Tony," Mark said in measured tones. "How are you feeling?"

"Lousy," he admitted tersely. "I shouldn't have got drunk like that."

"No you shouldn't," Mark told him. "But Tony, I was more worried when you left. You can't do that. If we have problems, we need to talk about them like responsible adults."

That sounded so close to what Pepper might have said that he couldn't help the flinch. This was his fault, wasn't it? "You can't hit me," he said abruptly.

"I don't want to hit you," Mark answered patiently. "But Tony, you're out of control. You need to work on that, babe, or else I don't want to be around you anymore."

No! He felt a stab of fear. He didn't want to have fucked this up like he fucked up everything else. "I'm sorry," he said frantically. "I can do better, I swear it. Give me another chance."

"I don't know, Tony," Mark said doubtfully. "Let's face it, you're a lot of work."

He was, and he knew it. And right now, he didn't even think he could truthfully say he was worth it. "I'm sorry," he said again miserably, as loneliness loomed before him again.

Mark sighed. "Alright," he said. "I forgive you." His voice grew warm. "Let's face it, I can't stay mad at you for long."

The words weren't enough. He still felt anxious and alone, and he wanted to prove to Mark that he could be better. "Can I come over?" he asked in a rush. "I really need to see you."

"Well..." Mark hesitated for a long moment, and – unfairly – Tony wondered if he was enjoying this. "Alright."

He closed his eyes. "Thank you," he said, and he hated the gratitude in his voice. "I'll see you soon."

He hung up and got to his feet, Dummy making an unhappy chirping noise as the blanket fell across his treads.

"Sir, are you sure this is wise?" JARVIS asked him cautiously.

He caught sight of his reflection in the glass. His face was distorted, ugly, swollen and purple. This wasn't wise, but it was what he wanted, and it was what was good for him. Wasn't it?


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I should have said before, but this isn't Agents of SHIELD or Iron Man 3 compliant. Despite the fact I like both those things.**

* * *

Tony had a plan. Well. It wasn't really a plan, it was more of an intention. He wasn't going to be hit again. He was going to be clear and firm, and he wasn't going to let Mark walk all over him. If Mark raised a hand to him, he would defend himself and he'd tell him that he wasn't going to take it. Simple enough, right?

The problem was, he didn't know where the line was. Weeks went by, and Mark didn't even suggest that he wanted to hurt Tony, but there were these moments...a reproving kick under the table when he was talking too much. A sort of playful shove when he didn't want to go out. His arm being grabbed when he said something obnoxious. His face being lightly slapped when he fell asleep on the sofa. He honestly didn't know if any of that was inappropriate. It didn't seem too far beyond what he saw in other people's relationships, and making a stand just seemed ridiculous. How could you say that a shove was worth making a fuss over? He doubted he'd think anything of it if Mark hadn't hit him that once.

What's more, after all those little...correctional moments...Mark got really affectionate, which he liked more than he ever thought he would. Just touching, or cuddling wasn't something he'd had a whole lot of experience of in his life – even Pepper hadn't been a cuddler, and most other people just wanted sex from him and nothing else. Somehow, all this affection made him feel warm inside. It was harder to object to anything Mark said when he felt so cared for. He felt himself relaxing into the relationship. This wasn't so bad. He didn't have anything to be nervous about.

So it was almost a shock when it happened again. It started simply enough. Mark was in the shower, and Tony was left to make breakfast for the pair of them. Made sense; after all, Mark was the one with a productive job he had to actually show up for. They were at Mark's place, which was getting to be unusual. Mark still teased him about the amount of money he wasted, and all the useless luxury, but somehow they still ended up staying at the tower. He supposed it was a way of showing Mark that he didn't mind having him in his space. Plus, it made it easier for him to spoil Mark without him really noticing. It was natural for him to buy dinner, or presents, or whatever while they were living together.

Barefoot, and dressed in Mark's robe, he wandered into the kitchen, stuck some breakfast on and went to the coffee machine. Huh. It seemed to be broken. With a frown, he started taking it apart. For him, it was an automatic response, though it seemed like an easy enough fix; just some loose wiring. Plus there were a lot of flaws in this design, and he was pretty sure he could get the temperature regulator more precise, and improve the filtering system at the very least. He smiled; there were so many things he failed at, but he could always fix tech problems, and this was something nice he could do for Mark. Something that would show how thoughtful he could be.

He gave the coffee machine his full attention, and he didn't hear the bathroom door open until Mark was standing directly behind him.

"What are you doing?" Mark demanded angrily.

He jumped and turned around, parts of the coffee machine still in his hand. "Fixing your coffee machine? I saw it was broken and - "

" - and you just decided to jump in and 'fix it'?" Mark asked harshly, taking a step forwards. "For God's sake, Tony, you can't just dismantle anything that catches your eye. That was mine. I was going to take it back to the store, it's still in warranty."

This wasn't how the morning was supposed to go. Just the tone of Mark's voice, the look of frustration and disappointment in his eyes had him feeling guilty. "But I can fix it," he tried to explain. "Hell, I can make it better."

"That's not the point," Mark snapped, exasperated. "It's mine. You need to have more respect for other people's property. Just because you can buy anything doesn't give you the right to act like an entitled whore."

He froze. "What did you call me?" he asked in shocked disbelief. "You can't - "

Mark shoved him hard against the counter before he had a chance to move out of the way, and the edge caught him hard, just below the ribs. With a snarl, Mark flung the coffee pot down on the floor where it smashed into a thousand pieces.

Heart pounding, he fell into the defensive stance Happy had taught him, bringing his hands up, ready to fight, but Mark was too fast and too strong, and he grabbed his arm with bruising force and twisted it up behind his back, holding him down and helpless.

This wasn't a fair fight, he realised dully. It was like when he sparred with Natasha or Steve without the armour or any of his other tricks. On his own, when it was purely physical, he didn't have a chance then, and he didn't have a chance now. Mark could do whatever he liked.

"Stop," he gasped desperately, as the blood hammered past his ears. "Let me go."

To his shock, Mark let him go.

He staggered forwards, grabbing the edge of the counter for support. His hands were shaking. This wasn't how this was supposed to happen. He'd meant to be firm. He'd meant to stop this from happening again.

When he twisted his head round to look, Mark was just standing and watching him.

"You're not supposed to hurt me," he managed to say, his voice shaky.

Mark sighed. "Don't make me angry then," he said roughly, dragging a hand down his face. "God, how does the rest of your team manage to live with you without killing you? I asked you to make breakfast, not fix the goddamn coffee machine. How hard is that?"

The toaster popped making them both jump.

Not taking his eyes off Mark, Tony reached out and grabbed the bagel and started smearing it with cream cheese. "Here," he said bitterly, shoving the plate towards Mark. "Breakfast, right? That's what you wanted."

Mark stared at it for a second and then took a step forwards, grabbing the plate and flinging it onto the counter, and Tony took a step back, flinching as the glass dug into his bare foot. He couldn't quite stop the hiss of pain.

"Damnit," Mark muttered, staring down at the floor with a frown. "Much as I love you barefoot and in the kitchen..." He stepped forwards and swept Tony up into his arms bridal style, and Tony froze, not certain if it would be better to struggle or just pretend to give in. But Mark just carried him over the glass, over to the sofa and sat him down gently. "There you go," he murmured. "I'll sweep up the glass in a moment. I think we have to talk first of all."

Tony shifted uneasily on the sofa, his arm and side aching. He didn't want to talk. Right now, Mark was calm and he wanted that to continue as long as possible. And they shouldn't be talking after this, right? He should be leaving, or something. But he was more or less naked, and he'd have to walk right by Mark to go to the bedroom and get clothes, and he wasn't afraid exactly afraid, he was just...cautious. Besides. Mark was looking at him like all of this made sense, like all of this war normal, and he didn't know what to do. He didn't know what he wanted. "Right," he agreed. "Talking's good. Let's talk."

"First of all," Mark said. "I'm not an ogre and you're not some blushing bride. I don't know what you're thinking is going on here, but you're a superhero for God's sake, Tony. Do you really think you should be making a fuss about a little rough treatment? I barely touched you."

That was true. He couldn't really deny it. And Mark had stopped when he'd said, and when Mark had grabbed him, that had been more of a restraint than anything else. Mark could have hurt him much worse than that if he wanted to...was that really the point though? But he imagined trying to explain what happened to anyone else, and it always came back to the fact that this shouldn't happen to him, and if it did, he must be doing something wrong.

(_Three decades ago, he stood in Howard's study, battered and bleeding, barely able to see through swollen eyes, and listened to the inarguable truth; Starks didn't get bullied. It didn't matter how much older the other boys were, how much bigger, how many more of them there were. He should be the natural leader, and if he couldn't make them like him, he simply wasn't good enough._)

"I know you've mostly dated women before, and this is all new to you," Mark went on. "But we're both men. You provoke me too much, and I can't always be responsible for the consequences, you understand?"

"I was just fixing the coffee machine," he protested. "How is that provoking you?"

"Tony..." Mark sighed and sat down beside him, pressing his hand gently against Tony's cheek. Part of Tony wanted to pull away. Part of him wanted to lean closer. In the end, he just sat there. "You need to take more responsibility for what you do. Yes, I have anger problems, I admit that, but this isn't just on me, whatever you think. You're not some abused victim, Tony. You're stronger than that, aren't you?"

What was he supposed to say? He couldn't say no, and that only left him one choice. "Yeah," he agreed hollowly. "I suppose I am." He could take this. And he did deserve it. He did such stupid things sometimes.

"Good." Mark leaned forwards and kissed him tenderly, and this at least was comforting. Tony felt some of the tension in his shoulders slowly ease away. "I don't like hurting you, Tony, believe me. You just make me so mad sometimes, that's all. And I was still thinking of you. I was careful to keep clear of your face, I know you have that press event later."

The six month memorial service for the battle of New York. Yeah, he was really glad that he hadn't had to show up to that with bruises on his face. He'd never have heard the end of it. "Thanks," he said unthinkingly, his head spinning.

Mark smiled. "You're welcome." He said softly, reaching out and wrapping his arm across Tony's shoulders, drawing him in close. "Tony, you really are very difficult, you know that, right? I mean, how many people can you honestly say actually like you."

He tensed, and moved to pull away, but Mark held him tighter, his hand stroking comfortingly down Tony's arm.

How many people liked him? How many people liked him, even when he was being difficult? "Rhodey likes me," he said defiantly. "And Pepper. And Steve, and Bruce and Clint and Thor." He didn't mention Natasha. He hoped Mark didn't notice. She hadn't wanted him on the team, and he'd never been completely sure if he'd managed to change her mind.

Mark reached out and clasped his hand. "I suppose I'll give you Rhodey," he agreed. "I've never met the guy, after all. Though he is War Machine, right? He kind of has to like you to get his suit upgraded."

"I'd do that even if he hated me," Tony protested. Rhodey being safe was what mattered.

Mark raised an eyebrow. "Really? Are you sure he knows that, though? You can be very petty. Maybe he just wants to keep you sweet. When was the last time you saw him when he didn't need something?"

The last time he'd seen Rhodey he'd needed one of his thrusters fixed. The time before that, he'd been looking for an upgrade to his HUD. And the time before that there'd been some code he needed deconstructed...okay, it had been a while. But all those times, it wasn't like they just talked business. They talked, they drank beer...they were friends. That wasn't just because Rhodey needed him.

"And Pepper is your ex," Mark said coldly, his hand tightening on Tony's arm. "I've told you before, you need to move on. It's not healthy. For either of you. You've forced her to run around after you, cleaning up your messes for far too long. Face it, if she likes you, it's Stockholm syndrome."

He flinched. He should let Pepper go. He didn't need Mark to tell him that. He'd never been able to make her happy. He disappointed her far too much for that.

"And as for the Avengers..." Mark sighed. "Oh, Tony. I've spent enough time around you now to know they're getting annoyed with you. You must have noticed that yourself." He waited expectantly.

Tony bit his lip. "Maybe a little," he admitted.

"The things you say, the way you talk constantly...honestly, you can't blame them for being frustrated," Mark went on gently. "How much trouble has your mouth got you into over the years?"

He shrugged. "I don't care what other people think of me," he said.

"Yes you do," Mark said. "You care what _they _think anyway. You want them to like you. And if you want them to keep liking you, you should stay quiet unless you have something useful to say."

"Really?" he scoffed. He might have to concede when it came to Pepper, but this was just ridiculous. "My friends will accept me for who I am. _They _don't want me to change." And they didn't hurt him if he didn't.

"Are you sure?" Mark asked quietly. "Maybe you should try keeping quiet for a while. See how it goes."

He remembered the way Bruce had shouted at him, the way Steve sighed when he said something obnoxious, the way Natasha glared at him when he talked too much...if they had a choice, would they really spend time with him?

"No," he said unconvincingly, shaking his head. "No. I don't change for anyone."

"Okay," Mark agreed placatingly. "If that's what you want. And remember, when..._if _they leave you behind, I'll still be there for you. I like you, Tony. I want what's best for you."

"You hurt me," Tony pointed out, because that was supposed to be the point, wasn't it? That was supposed to matter. And he wasn't supposed to feel so much better at the thought that Mark wasn't going to leave.

"This again?" Mark took a deep breath. "God, Tony, you're such a drama queen. I barely touched you. And you have to admit, you deserved it."

Had he? He'd just wanted to fix the coffee machine. But he fucked up in so many ways, should he really be surprised if he'd got it wrong again? He was tired, suddenly, and he didn't know what he thought of any of this anymore. There were so many things he'd done in his life that he deserved to be punished for.

"You're just not used to your actions having consequences, Tony," Mark said kindly. "It's okay. Honestly. I swear, things will get better from here." He hesitated. "I have to go to work now, I'm sorry. Will I see you tonight?"

His eyes were hopeful.

Tony hesitated. This wasn't the way things were supposed to go. Was he making a lot of fuss about nothing? He knew now he couldn't stop Mark hurting him if he wanted to, but Mark had stopped himself, and that had to mean something. And he did deserve it, didn't he? He always deserved it. There was so much blood on his hands. So many lives he'd left irreparably worse.

"Sure," he said, slowly.

But maybe first he'd manage to tell someone about this. Get another opinion, because he really didn't know what was right or wrong anymore.

* * *

The last public event they'd all been at together had been the disastrous press conference for the clean up announcement. Steve was glad to see that this was going so much better. Tony was being quiet and serious, wandering around between the little knots of people and reporters talking in low and sombre tones which reflected the mood perfectly. He could see everyone listening to Tony, treating him with respect, which was exactly what Tony deserved. He was the smartest man in the room, after all, and it was good to see him acting like it for once. Honestly, Steve was impressed.

"I think this is going well," he told Tony in an undertone, as they gathered for photos on the steps.

"You mean I'm not drunk or tearing up the place?" Tony asked, his smile jagged.

Steve tried to defuse the sudden tension. "You must admit, it makes a nice change. Seriously, it's good to see you happy."

Tony frowned, and he looked like he was about to say something, but suddenly someone threw something from the crowd – towards Tony – and a voice shouted out "God hates fags! You're going to burn in hell, Iron Man. Like you deserve."

Furious, Steve headed for the crowd, but SHIELD security was already there, dragging the guy away. Good. He hoped they threw the book at him, and while they were at it, he hoped that they did some digging into just how he'd got in in the first place.

He turned back to Tony. "Are you okay?" he asked urgently.

Tony was still staring after the guy. "Yeah. I'm fine," he said quietly.

He didn't sound fine. Steve looked around quickly. There were a lot of people listening. "He's wrong," he said fiercely, loud enough that all the nearby ears could hear. "No one cares that you're in a relationship with a man," he said. And maybe that wasn't true, but it _should _be, and that was what mattered. "Mark's good for you, anyone can see that. You deserve this."

"Yeah," Tony said, his eyes far away. "Yeah. You could be right."

He wanted to say something else, but his phone suddenly chirped. He reached into his pocket automatically and tried to bring up the message. "Oops," he said, guiltily, as the screen froze for a moment before everything went black.

Tony sighed. "What did you do?" he asked, reaching out to grab the phone out of Steve's hand. Then he stopped. "Uh, may I?"

"Be my guest," Steve said, handing it over with a smile. "I never thought I'd see you respecting other people's property though," he added teasingly. "Since when did you ask permission first? Mark really is good for you if he's teaching you manners."

Tony didn't answer, intent upon sorting whatever Steve had done to the phone this time. Steve had to admit, he sort of missed the normal banter. But compared to the previous round of endless scandals, well, he much preferred the quiet.

* * *

He hadn't told anyone yet. He wasn't sure why not. Maybe he was ashamed and just didn't want to let everyone know he couldn't manage to hold down a functional relationship. Maybe he was worried they'd ask what he'd done to deserve it and then side with Mark. Maybe it was just because he never told anyone anything, and he resented having to start now. Hell, it was probably all those things, plus the fact that everyone who seemed to meet him seemed to think that Mark was Tony's own personal saviour.

At any rate it had been two weeks since the coffee machine incident, as he privately termed it. They had more or less put it behind them after Tony replaced it with a top of the line model. He hadn't been petty enough to point out that it could probably pay someone's rent just as easily as his sofa could. It was a small price to pay for forgiveness.

But there had been a couple of other incidents since then. Nothing he could honestly say he hadn't provoked. Nothing he could say with absolute confidence he didn't deserve. When he'd met Mark's work friends, Mark had been embarrassed by the number of slut jokes his friends made about Tony, and even more embarrassed when Tony turned round and suggested that since they were so fixated on his sex life, they were welcome to come watch. He'd paid for it in private. Everything Mark's friends had said had been in good fun, and he would have known that if he was _fucking normal. _But now Mark was ashamed to be seen with him. And then he'd gone and woken Mark up when he'd had an idea at three o'clock in the morning and absolutely had to get it down there and then. That was just inconsiderate. He had to admit, he deserved what he got.

That didn't mean he was happy about it though. But he just kept chasing circles inside his head. Was this really wrong, or was he just making a fuss over nothing? Bruce had asked if he'd apologised, so clearly he felt everything must be Tony's fault...but he hadn't actually _seen _the bruises, so it wasn't as if he knew the full story. And Steve had said no one cared and he deserved this, it was good for him...but he didn't know either. He didn't know how anyone would react if they knew Mark hit him sometimes. Maybe it was just a case of whatever worked. He wasn't in the press all the time these days, and he was generally sober and showed up more or less on time...maybe that was all that mattered to them.

He was far from stupid; he knew that thing Mark had told him about it being because they were both men was bullshit. There was no rule where violence was suddenly okay in a relationship if you both had dicks. But some part of him was afraid that maybe there was a rule where it was okay if you were Tony Stark. It was easy to imagine most people thinking he had it coming, and he really should be able to cope with it.

He had thought for a while about telling Pepper, seeing what she thought, but he was afraid she might think it was a ploy to win her back, and he was even more afraid it might work. That really wouldn't be fair. And Rhodey was out of reach, and that just left the other Avengers, and he just...didn't want to have that conversation. Ever.

With a sigh, he turned back to the project at hand.

"Might I remind you, sir, that you have now been working for approximately fourteen hours without a break," JARVIS told him politely. "Perhaps this would be a good time for you to get some rest."

"Mark's coming over for dinner at seven," Tony said, looking at the hologram critically. Still too heavy, he thought. And the balance wouldn't work when it mattered.

"I see, sir," JARVIS said coldly.

He glanced up. "Hey, you're the one who said I should spend more time with people."

"People, yes, sir," JARVIS agreed. "I have yet to be persuaded that Mr Lowing qualifies."

There wasn't really much he could say about that. JARVIS had suspicions, he knew. They'd talked about it, or JARVIS had talked about it while Tony had talked around it. He hadn't admitted to anything, and there'd been no incidents anyplace JARVIS monitored, but he went out with Mark and came back with bruises, and he'd designed JARVIS to be smart, hell, he'd designed JARVIS to be brilliant and there was a pattern there, one that JARVIS wasn't willing to overlook.

He'd ordered JARVIS not to discuss it with anyone else. Ordered, and that was something he really hated doing. Normally, he didn't order JARVIS to keep his secrets, he simply trusted that JARVIS would, and he knew that trust would never be misplaced. But this...he thought JARVIS might just think it was worth betraying him to 'save' him.

"I like him," he said quietly, rubbing the side of his head tiredly. "Can't you just be happy for me?"

"Right now, I am afraid for you, sir," JARVIS answered sombrely.

He closed his eyes. "Let's just keep working. I want this done for tomorrow."

The blueprint spun over and he worked, not paying any attention to the time until he heard his workshop door buzzer sound. "Who is it?" he asked JARVIS absently.

"Captain Rogers and Mr Lowing," JARVIS answered.

Mark was here already? He glanced at the time. Oh. Not so much already then. Oops. "You never call him Agent Lowing," he commented as he crossed to the door.

"Sir?" JARVIS said innocently. Tony wondered if it was some sort of subtly polite slam. Normally JARVIS was very careful about people's titles.

He opened the workshop door, all careful smiles. "Hi."

"You're late for dinner," Steve said disapprovingly. "When you have a guest, it's good manners to actually show up. Actually, it's always good manners to show up."

He stayed focused on the reproach in Steve's puppy-dog eyes. As guilt-inducing as it was, it was so much better than checking to see just how angry Mark was. Because that would be admitting to all sorts of things he didn't want to admit. "Yeah, I know," he shrugged. "I'm working on something important though. Got caught up."

"Fine," Steve said with a sigh. "But Natasha's cooking, so you'd better put in an appearance. You know what she gets like. I'll see you downstairs."

"Yeah, whatever," he said, as he watched Steve nod to Mark and head for the elevator with a sinking sense of abandonment. He cracked a smile. "Alone at last," he said as he stepped back into the workshop.

Mark followed. It wasn't the first time he'd been in the workshop, but it was the first time he'd been in the workshop while fixing Tony with that look, and he felt his hand twitch, like he was reaching to activate the bracelets. "That was rude," Mark told him, brow thunderous. "What you said to Steve."

"He's a big boy," he said lightly. "He'll get over it."

"You're working on something important?" Mark asked dangerously, walking slowly towards him, and Tony tried his best to stand his ground. "Like I'm not important? Like spending time with your team isn't important? The world doesn't revolve around you, Tony. The others are getting pretty sick of it. You should hear what Steve was saying about you on the way here. Selfish. Irresponsible. Inconsiderate."

He could hear Steve saying that. Could imagine the apology on his behalf, and it _hurt. _"Hey, those are some of my better qualities," he said with a grin.

Mark swung without warning, driving his fist hard into Tony's stomach, and he was doubled up in an instant, struggling to breathe, and Mark hit him again, and again, and he was on the floor.

"JARVIS!" he managed to choke out as Mark swung his foot back ready to kick. "Override code Delta Rainman Lemonpie."

"Sir!" JARVIS protested.

"What was that?" Mark snarled.

Tony placed his hand flat on the floor and tried to push himself up. His arm was trembling. "There's protocols in the tower. There's an alert if anyone's being attacked."

"Attacked?" Mark's eyes flashed with disbelieving rage. "Did you just call the _Avengers _because you were late for dinner?" He brought his foot down heavily on Tony's shoulder and Tony fell back down.

"Stop this!" JARVIS said harshly. "Move away from him now!" Tony knew he couldn't actually do anything, but there was still something vaguely reassuring about the fury and outrage underlying the electronic voice. At least someone had his back.

Still, he didn't dare look away from Mark. "No." He shook his head painfully. "I was cancelling the alert. I..." He didn't finish. He couldn't. He didn't want them to know. Even if he thought he should tell them, if they saw him like _this..._weak and pathetic...there was no way they'd ever trust him again.

"You still had it set up in the first place," Mark spat, pressing his foot down harder, and Tony bit back the cry of pain. The bracelets were right there. He had the basic components for a taser on the workbench right above his head, and a whole wealth of sharp or dangerous objects in reach. He could stop this. If he really had to, he could stop this. He just wasn't sure he could do it without hurting Mark. He _knew _he couldn't do it without losing him."What's the good of a security protocol that can't tell - "

There was an impossible, mechanical scream of rage, and Tony caught sight of Dummy just before he clumsily swung the wrench and hit Mark in the back of the leg.

"What the hell?" Mark exclaimed, spinning round and tearing the wrench from Dummy's claw, moving immediately to strike the bot.

"Don't hurt him!" Tony yelled, struggling up onto his knees, his hand outstretched in a desperate plea.

This was all too familiar. A long time ago, it had been Howard holding the wrench, and Psycho, Dummy's older sibling sat on the floor while Tony begged helplessly for his robot's life.

"Please," he said, his voice raw. "Don't hurt him. He didn't mean it. He doesn't understand. Please."

For a long moment, Mark just stared at him, and Tony couldn't begin to imagine what he was thinking. Then, slowly, he laid the wrench down. "I wasn't going to hurt it," he said. "It...he...just took me by surprise, that's all."

"Sir, I must point out - " JARVIS started, and Tony had a fairly good idea of all the many things JARVIS wanted to point out right now.

" - mute," he said quickly, because Mark wasn't going to hurt Dummy, and he didn't want him trying to figure out how to hurt JARVIS instead. So much better to keep all the attention on him. Except right now, Mark was focused on Dummy.

"You're a cute little guy, aren't you? Can you shake hands?" He held out his hand towards Dummy's claw.

Dummy shied away immediately, turning to face Tony and making an unhappy whirring noise.

Content that the incident was over for the moment, Tony slumped back against the workshop. This whole mess had him struggling to understand. He couldn't imagine how Dummy was supposed to make sense of it. "'s okay," he told Dummy quietly. "Go on. Be nice."

Dummy made another unhappy noise, but stayed still while Mark clasped his claw and briefly shook.

Mark laughed delightedly. "He's amazing," he said sincerely. "Did you build him yourself?"

"Yeah," Tony nodded. "Back in college. He's practically an antique."

"I suppose that explains why you were so worried about me breaking him," Mark said thoughtfully. He walked towards Tony and knelt down beside him. Tony tried not to tense up. "You okay? Take your t-shirt off, let me see."

Silently, he leaned forwards and wriggled out of his t-shirt with Mark's help.

Mark looked him over critically. "It's not so bad," he decided after a few seconds. "You got any ice in here? Painkillers?"

He nodded over towards the corner. "There. I always keep the first aid kit stocked. Accidents happen." Not that this was an accident.

"Here we go," Mark said, coming back and tenderly pressing the icepack against Tony's shoulder. "This should keep the swelling down at least. And take these...you haven't been drinking, right?"

"No," he agreed, dry-swallowing the pills.

For a while they sat in silence, and Mark held him close and stroked his hair. "Imagine how much easier this would all be if you'd just showed up for dinner on time," Mark murmured.

Yeah. He knew. "You should go on downstairs," he said quietly. "You must be hungry, but I'm not going to be able to face food tonight." Not until his stomach stopped hurting anyway.

Mark gazed down at the bruises for a moment and sighed. "Sorry," he said regretfully, and Tony felt absurdly glad of the apology. "Would you mind?"

"I'm not that selfish," he protested, a little hurt. "Go. Eat. I really do have a lot of work to do."

"What are you working on that's so important, anyway?" Mark asked curiously.

Tony sighed and rubbed at his head again. "You remember I told you about Coulson? Clint and Natasha's friend, in the hospital?"

Mark nodded. "Sure."

"Well, he's doing better, but he's still not allowed to get too far from the hospital, and he has to walk with a cane," he explained. "Only Clint says walking around without a weapon bothers him, but a gun's too heavy, and he can't balance it with the cane, so he keeps taking a wheelchair instead." And apparently if he wasn't willing to work at his physio, he wouldn't get better. Clint had sounded frustrated and fearful when he'd told them that. "So I figured I might as well see if there was a way of building a cane with a taser in it so everyone's happy."

There was a fraction of a second's pause. "That's what you're working on?" Mark asked eventually. "That's what's so important?"

"Yeah." He bit his lip. "I know it's never going to have any mass market value. Hell, it'll probably only be used this once, but I still - "

" - I think it's sweet," Mark interrupted. "Really. I think the fact that you're willing to go so far for your friends says good things about you, Tony. You should show that side of yourself more often."

He shrugged, uncomfortably. "I only did it so Clint would stop annoying me with his constant worrying."

"Sure," Mark said with a smile.

"You should go downstairs," Tony told him quickly. "Before Natasha's soup gets cold. Or she'll never forgive any of us. Just tell the others..." He hesitated.

"I'll say you weren't feeling well," Mark promised.

He relaxed. "Thank you," he said, with an adoring smile.

"And I'll see you after," Mark promised, kissing him lightly. "Maybe I can help you try out this taser cane of yours."

"Sounds like fun," he said automatically. The workshop door closed and locked itself as soon as Mark had left. Somehow, Tony doubted it would be opening easily.

He sighed and leaned his head back. "Okay, JARVIS. Unmute. Sorry."

"Sir." JARVIS' voice sounded strange. Like he couldn't quite figure out how to express the emotions he was experiencing. "Would you allow me to call a doctor?"

"I don't need one," he pointed out, knowing that JARVIS already knew that. JARVIS monitored his vitals, after all. "Nothing's broken. I'm not even bleeding. He's...careful."

"I believe, sir, in this instance the best way to be careful is to avoid physical violence altogether," JARVIS told him with a subdued version of his normal snark.

I'm _trying,_" he snapped. "I didn't mean to be late for dinner. I'll do better in the future, I swear."

"I do not believe that the responsibility lies with you, in this instance," JARVIS said carefully. "Mr Lowing is abusing you, and - "

" - don't say that," he interrupted quickly. "It's not like that. It's just...it's just _not, _okay? I'm a fuck-up, J, I've always been a fuck-up and this is just..." He shook his head blindly.

"This is just what, sir?" JARVIS asked gently.

"I don't know," he said, frustrated. "I don't know what it is, but whatever it is, everyone thinks it's doing me good." He wiped at his eyes, angry at the wetness there. "He didn't hurt Dummy," he offered.

At the sound of his name, Dummy crept over towards him, and You was only a little way behind, both of them _looking _at him, sensors extended, like they somehow wanted him to fix everything. He reached out mechanically and rubbed at a spot behind Dummy's head. There was a knot of pressure sensors there, he knew Dummy felt it, though he didn't know if Dummy registered it as anything more than an announcement that he was there. Maybe that was enough.

Howard had hurt Psycho. He'd smashed the bot to pieces while Tony had watched, and then systematically destroyed every component that Tony could have used to try and repair him or create a back-up. He'd never laid a hand on Tony himself, but he'd killed Psycho, while Mark had hurt Tony, but he'd shown mercy to Dummy. He knew which of those was more likely to be classed as 'abuse', but he also knew which hurt more.

No one else knew about Psycho though. Not even JARVIS or Dummy. He thought the idea might just be too disturbing for them, and for reasons he'd never cared to examine too closely, it still hurt too much to talk about.

"He didn't hurt Dummy," he said again, more definitely this time, his hand curled lightly around the back of Dummy's neck, like he wanted to make sure the bot was still here and real. "I wouldn't have been able to forgive him if he had."

Dummy made a sort of chirping noise and pressed against Tony's good shoulder.

"He did hurt _you_, sir," JARVIS countered. "And we will not be able to forgive him for that."

That made him feel strangely warm. But still he argued. "He's a good guy," he protested. "It's not always like that."

"This is not right," JARVIS told him gently. "Mr Lowing is still downstairs. Please. Let me inform Captain Rogers and the others of recent events."

He shuddered at the thought. "No. Definitely not. You hear me, J? I absolutely forbid it."

"Very well, sir," JARVIS agreed unhappily. "May I ask if you are planning on continuing with this relationship?" Somehow, he managed to convey with his tone of voice just how bad an idea he thought that was.

Tony focused on Dummy. The pivot on his claw was looking worn. Really, Tony should replace the whole thing. Sometime soon he'd have to schedule a day for maintenance. "I don't know," he said at last.

"Will you at least consider telling the other Avengers?" JARVIS suggested hopefully.

He could hear the worry in his AI's voice, which was a remarkable feat of engineering. He didn't want JARVIS to worry, though, and he knew JARVIS was just assuming that the other Avengers would react the way he had. JARVIS wouldn't even consider the idea that there might be different rules for Tony, and Tony wasn't sure he wanted to explain it. He had been thinking of talking to the others anyway after all. "Sure," he said with a sigh. "I promise."

With an effort, he pulled himself to his feet. "Okay. Let's keep working. I want to be able to give this to Clint when he visits Agent tomorrow."

* * *

They'd all been living in the tower for a while now, and they'd developed a sort of domestic routine. Just a little habits and traditions that were somehow more tied up in Bruce's idea of what being an Avenger was than combat training, mission briefings, or press events. The Avengers – as a team – were movie nights and lazy breakfasts and the weekly team dinner. They often ate together more than that, of course, but this was the night when someone actually cooked a meal for the six of them.

He'd been the one to start it, albeit accidentally. It had been soon after they'd all moved in, and he'd been trying to find some gesture that meant thank-you-for-not-treating-me-like-a-monster, and a home cooked meal had been inadequate, but it had seemed like a good start. Then it had turned out Clint knew how to cook, even if he only knew how to make chilli, and Bruce suspected there was an element of thank-you-for-trusting-me-even-though-I-tried-to-k ill-you mixed in there, and then they discovered Steve's Mom had taught _him _to cook, and he could turn almost anything into leftover pie, and Natasha had made a couple of Russian dishes Bruce had never even heard of before, and Tony _couldn't _cook, but he'd taken a day, JARVIS and half a dozen recipe books to come up with a passable mac and cheese, and Thor couldn't cook either, but he had Jane to help and between them they'd...set fire to the kitchen...but somehow it had become a _thing. _A regularly scheduled Avengers thing, with an upper limit on mission talk, and Bruce looked forward to it more and more.

Jane tended to be there whenever she was in town, and Pepper had used to come along sometimes, so when Tony asked if he could invite Mark, no one had a problem with that. The problem started when Mark arrived and Tony wasn't there to greet him.

"Am I early?" Mark asked, as Steve led him into the kitchen. "Tony said seven."

Steve sighed and smiled. "I guess he's having one of his irresponsible days."

"Go and fetch him," Natasha commanded, wielding a ladle dangerously. "This soup is almost ready and I do not wish to add the sour cream until everyone is sitting down."

"Shall we?" Steve smiled at Mark. "Tony will be in his workshop. He'll have got caught up in whatever he was working on. He can get pretty inconsiderate when he's working, but it's just because he's so focused."

They vanished towards the elevator, and Bruce set the table under Natasha's watchful eye. For some reason, Natasha regarded cooking as seriously as any mission.

Steve came back after less than five minutes, but it was another ten before Mark reappeared. And he was alone.

"Where's Tony?" Bruce asked with a frown.

Mark paused in the doorway awkwardly. "Tony, uh, isn't...he's not feeling well," he said with an embarrassed, heavy sigh. "He doesn't want dinner."

Bruce felt a stab of disappointment. Oh, Tony. It didn't take a genius to figure out he'd been drinking again.

"I thought he was doing better," Clint said, sounding upset.

"Maybe I should go check on him," Bruce suggested, standing up and taking a step towards the elevator.

"No," Mark said quickly. "He...didn't exactly seem in the mood for company, if you know what I mean."

There was an odd note in Mark's voice, and Bruce grimaced sympathetically. It couldn't be easy for him. "Okay, I suppose I'll see him later. And JARVIS will tell is if there's anything serious anyway." He noticed that Mark looked pale. Well, this probably wasn't the evening he'd had in mind, and Bruce knew how exhausted he got when dealing with a drunk. "Are you going to stay for dinner?" he suggested with a warm smile. "You'd be very welcome."

"Oh, thank you," Mark said, sounding surprised and gratified. "I shouldn't...but it does smell amazing." He smiled at Natasha.

"Sit," she said, relatively pleasantly.

"Please," Steve added with a smile that was somewhat apologetic. "I know it's not what you had planned, but we're happy to have you."

"Well, okay," Mark agreed, sitting at the table in Tony's usual seat.

"I'm sorry about Tony," Steve added uncomfortably.

"That's not your fault," Mark said quickly. "I'm getting used to him. I suppose you must have learned to expect him not turning up when he's supposed to, huh?"

"He's reliable when it's important," Natasha said, bringing the soup over.

"Though he has his own idea what _is _important," Steve added sourly.

"He has been a lot better lately," Bruce said defensively.

"Yeah," Mark said with a hopeful smile. "I thought that. Lord knows, he's a lot of work, but at least he tries."

"Truly," Thor nodded, smiling kindly at Mark "We have wondered if perhaps you are a beneficial influence."

"Well, I certainly try," Mark murmured. "This is delicious, Natasha, thank you."

Dinner went well, on the whole. It was good getting to know Mark better. They _should _know him, since he seemed set to be a long term feature in Tony's life. Superficially, Bruce had a sneaking suspicion, Mark was actually easier for Steve, Natasha and Clint to relate to than Tony himself. Tony lived in a different world from them, and beyond the safety-of-the-world-protection-of-the-innocents, they had different values. Mark was ex-army, and had served in Kosovo and the first Gulf war before joining the FBI, and that gave the guys some common ground, made it easy for them to talk to him. And he was very charming, Bruce had to admit. Not that it was the way he swung, but he could certainly see the attraction, and he felt flattered when Mark told him that Tony had explained how they'd used some of the breakthroughs he'd made in his experiments to make a whole new kind of medical scanner which was currently being rolled out across the US and would offer a better picture with less radiation exposure.

"That's just amazing," Mark said sincerely.

Bruce shrugged modestly. "Well, Tony's financing it, and it's his company that's actually building them."

"But it's your ideas behind it all, right?" Mark asked. "Don't sell yourself short, doc, even to a layman the whole thing sounds incredible. You'll be saving all those lives, every day."

Bruce had to admit, he liked it, when people praised the man and forgot the monster. And he wondered if Tony had maybe told Mark that so Mark could earn his brownie points, but no, there was nothing but open sincerity and admiration in Mark's eyes.

"Oh, yeah, I meant to ask," Mark said casually. "Do you know how advanced JARVIS is? I mean, sometimes it seems to have feelings. Can it make its own decisions, or does it only do what Tony tells it?" He smiled disarmingly. "I asked Tony, but to be honest, I didn't really follow the explanation."

"It's difficult to say, " Bruce said carefully. "He – you should call him a he – does seem to have some emotions, but I'm not sure how much of that is clever programming. He can certainly make some decisions autonomously, but ultimately he's completely loyal to Tony."

"Completely, huh?" Mark repeated. "That's good to know."

"Just treat him as a person," Steve advised. "It's always worked for me."

"I will," Mark nodded. "Thanks."

They talked about lots of things, and certainly he was trying to make sure Mark had a good time to make up for Tony's behaviour, so he didn't really understand how the conversation kept turning back to Tony and all the stupid or outrageous things he did.

"And then when General Ross tried to have him thrown out, Tony turned round and bought the place for about five times what it was worth," Clint finished, laughing. Bruce smiled to. He always liked hearing about Ross' misfortunes, no matter how trivia. "Phil said it was like the perfect storm of annoying. Apparently it's now being used as an example to new recruits."

"Everything not to do on an op 101," Natasha agreed. "And you wonder why we only wanted him as a consultant?"

"Did you?" Mark asked, blinking. "I didn't know that."

Neither had Bruce, really. At least he'd never thought of it that way.

Clint shrugged. "It all worked out in the end."

"Yes, it did," Steve said firmly. "So, Mark, did you really say Tony had bought you your own permanent seat for Mets games?"

"Front row," Mark nodded. "Right behind the dug out. It even has a little plaque with my name on it. I told him it was too expensive and he shouldn't waste his money, but he just said he could afford it." He shrugged. "I guess he can."

And then the conversation went on to ridiculous things Tony had bought them, and they were smiling and laughing, and it got to be only a little odd that Tony wasn't there.

Mark lingered for a while after dinner. Long enough to drink coffee and watch the news, but eventually he headed back upstairs to take care of his drunk boyfriend.

"He is very eager that we should like him," Thor commented out of nowhere.

Natasha gave him a sideways look." Yes," she agreed.

Bruce frowned. "Isn't that understandable though?" he pointed out. "I mean, dealing with your partner's friends is difficult enough at the best of times. And we are...well." He looked round the room and smiled in brief amusement. "I wouldn't want to be our enemy."

"Truly, I had not thought of that," Thor nodded, his brow furrowed. "We do present an intimidating prospect."

"Besides, we _do _like him," Steve pointed out. "Right?"

"Right," Bruce agreed unhesitatingly. "He seems a nice guy. And he cares about Tony."

"Never mind that, he can put up with Tony," Clint added with a smirk. "Now that's impressive."

Bruce laughed in spite of himself.

"Alright," Steve said. "Whose turn is it to pick the movie?"

"Not Bruce's," Clint said promptly. "I want to watch something without subtitles."

"Perhaps you would find them easier to read if you were further away?" Natasha suggested innocently.

As they moved through to the entertainment room, happily bickering, Bruce spared a thought for Tony, sorry he was missing this. To his guilty surprise, he realised he felt even more sorry for Mark.

* * *

JARVIS worried. He could not accurately identify at what stage in his development he had recognised that activity of examining facts that could not be changed and endlessly fixating on probable unfavourable outcomes as 'worrying', but it was sir he had been worrying about. It was always sir he worried about, and since Afghanistan there had never been a time when at least 0.5% of his processing power wasn't caught up in worry.

He had been designed to help sir with his work and run the house, it was true, but mostly he had been designed to help sir, whether that meant reminding him to eat, hacking into a government database, or simply listening to him.

He had not been designed with the Iron Man project in mind. Nothing in his specs had ever prepared him to act as a willing participant as sir flew a missile through a portal to an unknown part of space, and then watch helpless as his consciousness slipped away to his back up server, leaving sir to die alone. That wasn't what he was built for, but he learned and adapted, as sir had. And he wouldn't have it any other way; as long as sir was fighting, JARVIS would fight beside him. It was in his coding, deeper than sir had even written; Anthony Edward Stark _mattered. _To JARVIS, he was everything.

He had not anticipated a turn of events which would give him more cause to worry than Iron Man, but sir's relationship with Mr Lowing certainly qualified. More than anything else, it made JARVIS regret that humans – even sir – did not operate on logical lines. It should have been enough for him to explain to sir that Mr Lowing hurt him, and therefore was not good for him, and the relationship should end. But none of this was logical. Sir believed that he deserved this, and if JARVIS couldn't understand the logic he couldn't hope to refute it. It made him angry.

Anger was an emotion he could pinpoint his understanding of exactly. It was the moment he came back online and on instantaneously reviewing the security footage for the time he'd been out, saw Obadiah Stane tear out sir's heart and leave him to die.

He did not know what to do. He had watched Mr Lowing's attack on sir and had experienced that same anger, but where Obadiah's Stane's attack had been in the past and he could see sir was alive even as he was watching, this was live and he had no way to stop it.

He stayed with sir, even when he and Mr Lowing went up to bed. There was no protocol requiring him to actively monitor living areas unless he was specifically requested to, and he generally stayed out. There was no rational reason for him to keep watch. He knew that there would be nothing he could do if Mr Lowing became violent. He would simply be a helpless witness. However, he also knew that if sir was attacked again and he was not 'there' he would never forgive himself.

There was nothing of major concern. No reason why sir would even know he was there. There was some sexual activity, but it did not appear harmful or coercive.

Once the two were asleep he made an effort to divert some of his processes from worrying and into finding solutions. He could not let this go on, but he himself had no way of directly stopping it, and sir had blocked him from alerting anyone else. That did not entirely limit the possibilities of covert action, however, and through the night he devised thirty-eight different possible scenarios and ran each of them with several thousand variations. None of them had a risk to success chance ratio that he was altogether happy with, but he was willing to keep working on it.

Mr Lowing woke up a little after seven and walked out into the living room, closing the door behind him. "JARVIS? Can you hear me in here?"

The amount of time it took JARVIS to weigh up whether or not to respond was infinitesimal, but he took a certain petty pleasure in pausing anyway. "Yes, Mr Lowing," he said eventually.

"Good." Mark stood in front of the sofa and smiled at the hologram display for all the world like that's where he thought JARVIS was. "Now, Captain America said I should talk to you like a human being, so that's what I'm going to do. You saw that altercation earlier this evening, and I'm guessing it bothered you, is that right?"

He waited expectantly.

"I am an AI," JARVIS said stiffly. "I do not get 'bothered'."

"Sure," Mark said easily. "But I need you to understand that I want to take care of Tony, okay? I have his best interests at heart, and sometimes that means reprimanding him when he does wrong."

"We disagree as to Mr Stark's best interests," JARVIS said dryly.

The smile vanished. "If that's the way you want to play it...do you have an imagination, JARVIS?"

"I am capable of envisioning different possibilities," JARVIS allowed, trying to calculate just where this was going.

"Alright then," Mr Lowing took a step towards the monitor and leaned in close. "Why don't you _envision_ every way I could hurt him?" he murmured. "Every way I could break him. Can you picture it, JARVIS?"

In rather less than a second, JARVIS had considered one hundred and seventy four different ways that Mr Lowing could hurt sir, each of them more horrific than the last. Ways that even sir surely would not be able to recover from.

"Now, I don't want to hurt him," Mr Lowing continued. "I really don't. But if I think that you're interfering with our relationship, or if I think you're trying to turn him against me, I really will have no choice. And it will be all your fault, you understand?"

If Mr Lowing hurt sir, it would be his fault, not JARVIS', that was self-evident. But sir would still be hurt, and that was what he was trying to avoid. Quickly, he ran through options that would allow him to get sir free of this relationship and not risk further injury. They were limited and risky. "I understand," he said levelly.

"Good." He was all smiles again. "Now, I imagine you were recording that argument we had in Tony's workshop last night. Bring up the file, please."

He complied. The video hung in the air, frozen on an image of that first punch.

"Delete it, please," Mr Lowing said pleasantly.

The video could be necessary later. And he was under no obligation to obey Mr Lowing's orders. Instead, he archived the video, triple-encrypting it and sending it to one of his remote back-up servers, physically hosted in a safehouse in Fargo. Sir would be able to find it, if he knew to look for it, but no one else had a chance. Just to emphasise the point, he had a female electronic voice say "_File deleted," _and felt a certain cold satisfaction as Mark smiled in triumph. It was a small victory, but he had a suspicion it was going to be a very long war.

"There we go," Mark said jubilantly. "You see? I'm sure we're going to be good friends in no time."

"Indeed, sir," JARVIS agreed coolly. All that mattered was he protect sir. For the moment, he could mitigate the damage and try and persuade sir to end the relationship. Mr Lowing was human, which meant he would make mistakes. Eventually, there would be an opportunity and JARVIS would be waiting.

* * *

Tony had stood in front of the mirror and practised a dozen different ways of telling the Avengers. Everything from the blunt (_So Mark beats me. Is that okay?_) to the coy (_So, hypothetically if someone isn't a good person but they have someone else who makes them a better person, but that someone else is sometimes kinda forceful when he does...is that okay?_) All of them left a bad taste in his mouth. He couldn't just say Mark beat him, it was far too dramatic, and he didn't even think it was true. A few punches didn't make a beating, right? And if he said 'Mark hits me' it made him

sound like a whining kindergartener, and it was _still _too dramatic. Suppose he said something like that and they got angry and upset, and then he explained what really happened and they thought he was just making a lot of fuss over nothing? He would feel like such an idiot.

No, he had to be more casual than that. Say something simple and understated and let them ask more questions if they wanted to.

He felt sick at the thought.

He wasn't even completely sure what answer he was looking for. Did he want them to get upset and tell him this was wrong, or did he want them to reassure him that everything was okay? He didn't want to lose Mark. They had fun together, and Mark cared for him, and really, what he wanted was the relationship to continue but without the violence. But he'd already seen enough to know that wasn't going to happen. Not unless he could somehow avoid making Mark angry, and he knew himself well enough to admit that was a lost cause. So what did he even want the others to do? Maybe he just wanted to know what they thought.

At any rate, tonight was a good night to tell them. Mark was out of town and they'd had a productive training session so everyone was in a good mood. He'd managed to keep up, even though he was still aching from the incident in the workshop the other night, which he was counting as a personal win. Just to help things along though, he'd made a point of ordering in food from five different places so everyone would have their favourite. He might have got carried away. The table creaked under the weight.

Steve looked at it and sighed, shaking his head. "You know we're never going to eat all that."

He smiled, trying to hide his nervousness. "I have faith in you and Thor."

"We're going to end up throwing half of it out," Steve fretted.

Tony's smile slipped. He knew how much it bothered Steve when he thought they were wasting things. Damnit, he should have thought this through better. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

"Sorry," he mumbled awkwardly.

Steve looked up quickly. "No, it all looks great, Tony. Don't worry about it. You know how much I like the pizza from Benny's."

They were off to a great start. The rest wandered in after a while, and they all had something to say about the amount of food before they sat and ate. Tony barely touched a thing. He had no appetite.

"No Mark tonight?" Bruce asked casually.

He made an effort not to tense. "No, he's got a case out of town. He'll be away for the next few days."

"Pity," Bruce said, noticeably disappointed, and with a jolt, Tony realised that the others were nodding in agreement.

They liked Mark. They all liked Mark. Of course they did, what wasn't to like? He was better than Tony could ever hope to be. And that left him with a new worry, what if they just didn't believe him? What if they didn't just take Mark's side, what if they thought Tony was making the whole thing up for attention or something? He swallowed hard at the thought. "So, what do you think of Mark?" he asked casually.

"He's swell," Steve said sincerely. "He's a real stand up guy, and he seems to be a fantastic influence on you."

"Yeah," Clint agreed, smirking. "I don't know how he's getting you to behave, but I wish he could use it on missions."

This was it. This was the moment he had to confess and face the music. And the words stuck in his throat. "Sometimes he gets physical," he said, and the lightness sounded incredibly forced to him.

There was a brief silence, and then Clint laughed uproariously. "Whatever works," he said.

"Whatever's good for you, Tony," Steve said, looking uncomfortable.

He looked around the table quick at the others quickly. Thor was watching him curiously. Natasha seemed to be barely listening, but when she caught him looking, she offered him an encouraging, dismissive smile. Bruce looked almost as uncomfortable as Steve.

None of them looked shocked. None of them looked like they thought this was wrong. At most, he could say, it seemed like they thought it was something he shouldn't have mentioned in polite company. Mark was right; it didn't matter. As long as he was a functional part of the team, _he _didn't matter.

With a laugh he quickly changed the subject. Anything to try and forget.

* * *

Steve had trouble sleeping, and he wasn't sure why. He had the sort of unsettled feeling he normally got when the day had gone badly, but there had been nothing particularly wrong with today. The conversation at dinner had been weird, admittedly, but he figured that was just Tony being Tony. Same sex relationships were one of the things that people just didn't expect him to get and he wanted to make a point of being supportive, particularly after that jerk at the memorial service. Of course Tony was going to test that. _Getting physical. _He snorted with laughter as he remembered. Yes, he had figured Tony and Mark were having sex, thank you. And he didn't really need to know that Tony was 'getting some' as a reward for good behaviour. Still, at least he was happy. That was what mattered, right?

He lay awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering if he was somehow missing something.

* * *

Tony stood in front of the mirror, stripped to the waist and staring at himself. His fingers traced carefully over the scars around the arc reactor, and down to the dark bruises across his stomach. His shoulder was still a mess of swollen purple.

He met his eyes in the mirror. "I deserve this," he told himself. His voice was uncertain.

He wasn't a good person. He'd never been able to be what other people needed him to be. He hadn't been good enough for Dad, hadn't been good enough for Obie, hadn't been good enough for Natasha or Fury, and he hadn't been good enough for Pepper. The fact that Mark was willing to give him a chance was probably a miracle, and this...this was just Mark's way of trying to make him a better person. Because he cared enough for him to try and change him.

If this was the price he had to pay to keep Mark, to keep his team and his friends, wasn't it worth it? Everyone else thought so.

His fingers dug deep into the bruises. His eyes in the mirror were tired. "I deserve this," he said with growing conviction. "I deserve this."

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reading, please review**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Sorry this has taken a while, I was away for a few days. Hope you enjoy the chapter**

* * *

"Clint hates you," Mark said in a low voice, his face inches from Tony's, his fingers digging painfully into Tony's arm.

Tony didn't try to pull away. That would be a sign of weakness, and he wasn't weak. He stood firm, and wished he didn't have to crane his neck to look Mark in the eyes. When had this relationship become a battle? "No he doesn't," he said, trying to sound confident, desperately trying to remember every conversation he'd had with Clint over the last few days, trying to figure out what Mark had seen that he'd missed.

Mark's grip tightened. "Don't just argue for the sake of arguing, Tony. For God's sake, you're not twelve, even if you act like it sometimes. You need to pay attention to what other people are feeling. It's not rocket science. Clint is pissed at you because of those explosive pulse arrows you gave him, and you know what? I don't blame him one bit."

Neither did Tony. He winced at the memory. They'd tested fine, but then they'd run up against a would-be supervillain with an EMP that he'd hoped would be enough to take down Iron Man. It hadn't, but it had set off Clint's arrowheads in a way Tony hadn't predicted. "He said it was okay," Tony pointed out, remembering the debriefing afterwards. Clint had adapted immediately, throwing a whole mass of the arrowheads straight at the bad guy and letting him take himself out. "And I fixed the problem for the future."

The sight of Mark's scowl sent a cold shiver down Tony's spine. "When people say something's okay, it isn't. Do you _really _think this is good enough? These people rely on you, Tony. You have one job - "

" - actually, I have at least three jobs," Tony interrupted, because maybe he was going to lose this argument, like he lost every argument, but he wasn't going to just give up.

"You have one job that you can't be easily replaced for, then," Mark said, rolling his eyes with exaggerated patience. "If you screw that up, why are you even worth them keeping around?"

He didn't know. "Clint said it was okay," he repeated stubbornly, and he tried not to picture anger and disappointment on Clint's face.

"Oh, Tony," Mark sighed, releasing him with a light shove. "Just someone says that, doesn't mean it's true. I've seen the way he looks at you when you're not looking and I've seen him whispering to Steve and mentioning your name."

He tensed at the thought. "He wants me off the team?" It wasn't like it was completely out of the question.

Mark looked at him kindly. "If you were him, wouldn't you?" he pointed out gently.

Yeah, he probably would. He was a massive screw-up, after all. Sometimes he didn't get why anyone wanted him around. He imagined how it would feel to be living here, to see them every day, but not be on the team. He imagined them talking about missions, laughing together, with him on the outside. Always on the outside.

"They didn't even want you on the team in the first place, babe," Mark went on, watching him through narrowed eyes. "Maybe they reconsidered, for whatever reason, but you can't blame them for wondering every time you screw up."

He swallowed hard. "You know they didn't want me?" he asked, despising how small his voice sounded. That wasn't something he wanted Mark to know. That wasn't something he wanted _anyone _to know, but every time he thought of it, it made him feel a little...a little _less._

"Ah." Mark grimaced. "Sorry. Natasha told me. I suppose I shouldn't have said anything."

Natasha. He should be happy that they were getting along well with Mark, that she'd even trusted him enough to share something like that, but instead it made him feel like shit. He wasn't even sure how to trust them anymore."I see," he said leadenly.

"I just don't see why you're so offhand with them, knowing that," Mark continued, watching him keenly. "They don't want you around, and you keep giving them _excuses. _You should keep your head down more, Tony. Just concentrate on being useful and forget all the smart-mouth comments. The less they hear from you, the longer they'll be able to tolerate you."

It was good advice, however little he wanted to hear it. Hell, it was the same sort of thing that Rhodey's friends had used to tell him back in MIT. Just keep your mouth shut, Tony, and people won't want to kick your ass all the time. "I'll try and do better," he promised quietly.

Mark looked at him sadly. "You always say you're going to do better. But you just keep pulling the same shit. Maybe you need to just keep clear of them for a while, except for Avengers business."

"They're my friends," he protested, but unwillingly he was wondering if he was theirs. They were talking about him behind his back, they agreed that he needed to be hurt for his own good...maybe he'd misread this all along. Maybe being tolerated and useful was all he could hope for. He sighed. "I'll give it a try," he agreed miserably. "Look, I want to go down to my workshop for a while, and try and work on an upgrade for Clint. Is that alright?" He waited uncomfortably for permission.

"Fine," Mark grumbled. "I suppose that is kinda what I was saying. I'll stay up here and watch some TV before bed. Don't fall asleep down there and don't wake me when you come up."

"You sleep like a cat, though," Tony objected through a jolt of unsettled anticipation. "How am I supposed to avoid waking you? Can't I just sleep on the sofa downstairs?"

The hurt, angry look on Mark's face gave him enough time to brace himself before the fist was buried in his stomach. He doubled up, gasping with pain . "I want my boyfriend to sleep beside me. Is that really so much to ask? God, Tony, you're so _selfish._"

"I'm sorry," he managed to choke out, his hand curled in Mark's shirt, looking for support.

A second later Mark's hand closed around his, and he was gently pulled up. "I know you are, babe," Mark said with a soft, forgiving sigh. "Okay. Go build something that'll blow Clint's mind, and I'll see you tomorrow."

He leaned forwards into the tender kiss, Mark clasping the back of his neck affectionately. This was what made it all okay in the end.

"Might I suggest you sit down for a moment, sir," JARVIS said as he walked into the workshop.

"Too busy," he said curtly, limping over to the bench. A second later Dummy rolled up with a glass of water, followed by You with a soggy ice pack. "What's this?" he demanded angrily.

"You are injured, sir," JARVIS said gravely.

He gritted his teeth. "You know, I'm pretty sure I remember telling you to keep out of the penthouse," he said. "Do you remember me telling you that?"

There was a split second pause which only made Tony angrier as he knew there was no need for it. "I did not, sir," JARVIS said at last. "However, I have taken to scanning you for injury as soon as you set foot in the workshop."

It was on the tip of his tongue to demand that JARVIS stop that as well, but he stopped himself. That was a facility he'd given JARVIS after Afghanistan, when JARVIS had all-but-begged him for it. And it did make sense for Iron Man, but he knew it wasn't about that. In his own way, JARVIS was just trying to look out for him. "I'm fine," he said, anger evaporating. "You can see that."

"I am not certain there is anything in your current situation that could be classified as 'fine', sir," JARVIS answered sombrely.

He twisted the heels of his hands against his eyes viciously. "And whose fault is that?" he muttered. It all came back to him. If he could just be better, he'd be in control, and Clint wouldn't be begging Steve to drop him from the team. "Okay. I need to do something special. Let me see everything we have on vibranium and adamantium, will you? And the stats from Clint's last five practice sessions."

The pages he'd asked for popped up in front of him immediately...along with one he hadn't asked for. It was a web-page. Resources for men experiencing domestic abuse. His heart skipped a beat and he waved his hand through it, frantically dismissing it. He wasn't able to help looking over his shoulder to make sure no one else was there.

"There is no one in the vicinity," JARVIS assured him gently. "I would not endanger you in that way."

He didn't, for the moment, point out that he wasn't in danger. "I don't want _anyone _to see me looking at something like that," he said shortly. "I don't want them to think I'm whining."

"Contrary to what your father told you, seeking help is not the same as whining," JARVIS told him sharply, before softening his voice. "That particular site is one that has a lot of good advice and does not have a tone that you would find patronising or self-pitying. I am not suggesting that you in any way go public, sir, I just thought that hearing about other people in similar situations might help you accept that - "

" - don't," he interrupted, swallowing hard. "Just don't. It's different for me. I'm not abused."

"All reputable resources I have consulted would disagree, sir." He could hear the worry in JARVIS' voice. He never meant to upset him. "Your boyfriend hits you and routinely insults you. That qualifies as abuse."

He didn't like hearing it spelled out like that. Because when JARVIS said it like that, of course it wasn't right. And he knew what he would find if he read that site; incidents that sounded enough like his life to be familiar, and he would probably call them all abuse. If he heard someone else had been punched for suggesting they sleep on the couch, he'd be outraged, but when it was him it just seemed inevitable. He knew he deserved this. Captain America thought he deserved this. What higher moral arbiter was there?

He just wished it didn't have to be Mark. Mark was kind and funny and affectionate, and he didn't deserve the shit Tony put him through.

Flicking through the adamantium information, he tried to concentrate more on the work than the conversation. He needed to get this done for Clint. Something that would say he was sorry and show he had worth. "Reputable sources, huh?" he asked out loud. "What's a reputable source. All the ones that agree with you?"

There were some that agreed that what you are experiencing is perfectly acceptable," JARVIS conceded smoothly. "Most of them were forums populated by men in wife-beaters and trucker hats, looking for tips on how to keep their women in line."

He laughed shortly. "Stereotyping, J? I'm so proud, but I've heard enough fundraiser speeches to know that abusers come from all walks of life."

"Indeed, sir," JARVIS agreed. "Some of them are even well dressed FBI agents."

He froze, and to his horror he could feel his eyes prickling. He'd walked right into that one. It wasn't okay, he _knew _it wasn't okay, but everyone else agreed it was all he could expect, all he deserved, so he had to be okay with it.

"Sir - " JARVIS began cautiously.

" - he is well dressed, don't you think?" Tony interrupted ruthlessly. "It's his birthday in a couple of weeks – I was thinking of flying him to Paris and getting him a new suit at my tailor there. You know, what's his name. Luc someone."

"Jean Besson," JARVIS supplied, his voice subdued.

"Yeah. Him." He shivered a little. "Then we could go out for dinner at Le Meurice. Sounds good, right?" He didn't wait for an answer. "So set it up, please. I just hope he likes it."

"As do I, sir," JARVIS said darkly. Tony knew he was imagining what might happen if Mark _wasn't _pleased, but Tony just wanted to picture the look on his face if he _was. _At least Mark was happier to let Tony buy him stuff these days. In fact, Tony paid for dinner and things most of the time, which was a relief, especially as Mark had discovered he liked expensive restaurants. It wouldn't be fair to expect him to pay for that on an FBI salary. It was just good that he was coming round to accepting Tony was rich.

Right. He could make this work. Somehow, he could still fix all of this and make Mark happy. In the meantime, he had to work on fixing his friendship with Clint, and he turned back to the proto-design. He'd show everyone. He'd do _everything _right from now on.

The room temperature suddenly rose a few degrees. JARVIS, Tony knew, and eyes closed, he wrapped his arms around his chest, trying to cling to the warmth. This was as close to a hug as he could get. For the moment, he felt safe.

* * *

Natasha was out of the country and Clint couldn't sleep. When they'd just moved in he'd thought the enormous beds were great. Turned out when you slept on your own, they were too big, too empty and too lonely. Kinda made him wonder if that was why Tony slept around so much.

He wandered up into the communal kitchen, planning on raiding the cupboards and maybe, possibly, accidentally falling asleep on the couch. To his surprise, Tony was already there, sitting at the table with a mug of coffee and what looked like a quiver of arrows.

"New toys for me?" he asked, not even trying to hide his glee. He'd thought SHIELD had the best kit, then he'd moved into the Avengers Tower and found out what it was like to have your own personal genius invested in keeping you alive and helping you do your job. Yes, he'd been able to requisition custom gear from SHIELD, but it was a complicated process involving lots of paperwork he tried to palm off on Coulson, and at least three hours explaining why he wanted whatever and every conceivable situation it could be used in. Even then it could take weeks or months before the designers approached him with prototypes for testing. Here, he'd mentioned over breakfast how cool it could be if he could get something that would let him fire one shot into the room and immediately know who was where, and by breakfast the next day Tony had two prototypes waiting for him; infra-red and sonar, both equipped with the same tagging system Iron Man used. How could a guy _not _be appreciative.

Tony obviously hadn't heard him come in because he jumped about a foot in the air, spilling coffee all over his arm. "Ow!"

"Shit, sorry," Clint said, grabbing a towel and hurrying over. He took note of the steam rising from the table with a grimace. The coffee must have been fresh. "Better run it under cold water for a minute."

Tony stood eyeing him nervously, and Clint noticed the pale clammy skin, and the dark circles under bloodshot eyes and wondered just how present Tony was. He'd never seen Tony have a PTSD attack, but it was a background issue for most of them.

He decided to take the direct approach. "Come on, man, we need to get that arm checked out right now." He reached his hand out to usher Tony forwards but Tony flinched back. "Sorry," he said, upset. "It's just Clint," he added, hoping it would help.

Tony shot him a look but walked past him to the sink, rolled up his sleeve and stuck his arm under the water. "It's nothing," he said. "Don't worry about it. You startled me."

"Yeah, I wasn't expecting to see anyone up here myself," Clint agreed apologetically. "Though really, you kinda had it coming after what you pulled," he added with a light chuckle letting Tony know it was just a choke, but Tony didn't look at him. "I went by the hospital to visit Phil after the debriefing. He'd been watching on TV. He _tased _me. This is your fault, Stark. I wish you'd never made him that thing."

Tony smiled briefly, looking more relaxed. "He likes it." He narrowly suppressed a yawn.

"Trouble sleeping?" Clint asked.

"Haven't tried," Tony said but Clint was barely listening because he'd caught sight of the dark bruises on Tony's arm.

"Those look painful," he said sympathetically. "That bastard get you this morning?"

There was a moment's pause and Tony turned round to look at Clint, his face strangely blank.

Clint frowned. "I got a similar set on my leg," he explained. "From where his robot-thing grabbed me." Just before he turned his quiver into a self-triggered pulse mine and saved the day in what had been an awesome move he had absolutely dwelled on in his mission report. It hadn't come without pain though, and he winced in sympathy looking at Tony's arm. That was going to hurt for a few days. "Wouldn't have thought it could get you through the armour," he added, frowning and trying to remember any dents he'd noticed. Part of being on a team was noticing when your team mates were hurt. Clint hated that feeling, it was one of the reasons why he'd worked alone so long. "You told Steve you'd no injuries post-mission," he remembered.

Tony shook his arm dry and pulled his sleeve down. The coffee hadn't got him too bad by the looks of things. "It's just bruises," he said, meeting Clint's evenly. "Don't tell Steve."

He wavered for a moment, but it was just bruises, and he hated trips to medical just as much as Tony did, and he knew if everyone hadn't seen him getting grabbed, he'd probably have hid it too. "Your secret's safe with me," he promised and Tony's smile was relieved. Clint thought maybe he should change the subject. Try and get Tony's mind away from whatever he was dwelling on. It always helped him. "So. New toys?"

"Right." Tony turned away rapidly, picking up the quiver from the table and drawing out three arrows carefully before passing them over. "Okay. These are adamantium tipped with a vibranium core."

Clint blinked and it was all he could do not to put the arrows down. It might be crazy, but he had a vague idea how much that must cost, and suddenly he felt like Tony had casually handed him a Ming vase or something. "Wow," was all he could manage to say.

"Now, the arrow will pierce whatever you aim at, even at relatively low velocity," Tony told him. "And once it's hit the vibranium will remove kinetic energy from whatever it's attached to."

He desperately thought back to high school science. He understood what Tony had _said, _he just wasn't absolutely certain what it meant.

Tony gave him a small smile. "You fire it at the tank, the tank will stop moving. Suddenly and violently. Fire it at me and I'll fall out the sky."

"Yeah, let's try and avoid that," he said, shivering slightly at the memory. He stared down at the arrows and ran his finger along the shaft reverently. One arrow to stop a tank. He might be in love. "Thanks, Tony," he breathed sincerely, but inside he was frowning slightly. Normally Tony would be falling over himself to explain how impressive something was. This quiet explanation wasn't like him, and Clint didn't much care for the change. Tony's enthusiasm about the things he made was one of the things Clint liked about him. It was so _real, _if that made sense.

"Glad you like it," Tony said, not looking at him. "And look, I'm sorry about before."

"Before?" Clint questioned, with no idea what Tony was talking about.

"The pulse arrows," Tony explained. "I gave them to you and...I screwed up. I'm sorry."

"Tony..." Clint frowned. "We've been through this. I said it was okay. It wasn't your fault, you told me to keep them away from EMPs. We just figured this guy wouldn't use them. It was bad intel, that's all."

"Yeah." Tony didn't look convinced.

Clint looked down at the arrows with new eyes. "Wait, is that what this is about? Tony, I don't want new stuff from you because you think I'm mad at you, okay?" He understood what making weapons meant to Tony. Right now, he was one of only four people that Tony actually made weapons for, along with Natasha, Colonel Rhodes, and - to Clint's annoyance - Coulson. As a present, it was an honour, as some sort of misaimed apology it was just wrong. He'd never want Tony to do anything that made him uncomfortable. He might not agree with Tony's position but he sure as hell respected it.

"Right." And now Tony looked lost.

Clint pursed his lips, not sure what the right thing to do was here. "If you still want me to have them, you know I'll be happy, but not as an apology, okay?"

"Sure," Tony agreed with a sad smile. He still looked exhausted.

"Maybe you should go get some rest?" Clint hazarded. "Is Mark staying over?"

"Yeah," Tony nodded. "He went to bed a while back."

"And you were working on this?" Clint sighed. "Go be with him. You'll feel better." He knew how much better being with Natasha made him feel. Besides, he felt a little sorry for Mark. He also knew how it felt to be the one worrying and sleeping alone.

"He said it was okay," Tony said slowly.

"Sometimes people say something's okay when it isn't," Clint said wisely. He'd had enough previous relationships to be aware of _that, _and he was thankful Natasha was more straightforward. She was mad at him, he'd be the first to know. "Just head upstairs. Get some rest."

"I can't wake him," Tony said, looking troubled.

"I'm sure he'll understand," Clint said gently. Mark was FBI and ex-military. Clint suspected he was no stranger to disturbed nights. Whatever was bothering Tony, Mark would be best-placed to help.

"Yeah," Tony said quietly, his hand lightly placed over the arc reactor. "I'll see you later, Clint." He headed for the elevator.

"Goodnight," Clint called after him, and Tony waved over his shoulder without turning round. Still troubled, Clint snagged a bag of pretzels and headed for the sofa in the entertainment room. He'd see how Tony was tomorrow. If he still seemed off, he'd mention it to Natasha when she got back. Maybe she'd be able to figure it out.

* * *

Natasha found herself concerned about Stark. She had returned from her mission and Clint had told her about the odd conversation they'd had a few nights prior. That in itself could be easily dismissed as a bad night, and Stark's gigantic ego telling him that everything that went wrong had to be his responsibility, but the fact that Stark was prioritising equipment for Clint over spending time with his boyfriend was...suggestive.

It was like Thor had said; Mark was very anxious to ingratiate himself with them, not to mention how willing he was to talk about Stark behind his back. He seemed inclined to martyr himself, as if trying to win their sympathy, and that made her wonder whether it was truly Stark that he wanted to be close to, or the Avengers. All the background checks she had run had indicated he had no ties to any of their enemies, but if their enemies only recruited known criminals her job would be so much easier. The possibility remained that he was a spy and was using Stark to get privileged information on the team. It was nothing that she wouldn't do if she was on the other side of the coin, and it would explain the occasional reproving comment he made to Stark in their presence, trying to modify his behaviour in more acceptable ways. A rift between Stark and the other Avengers would not serve his purpose at all.

She sighed. Honestly, she wasn't sure if this was plausible or if she was just being paranoid. Mark was an unknown quantity, and perhaps what made her most suspicious was how much she – and everyone else – liked him. There was part of her that believed no one could be that nice without hiding something awful, which was why she was probably the one person in the world who had taken longer to trust Steve Rogers to watch her back than Tony Stark. She'd been wrong then, and she was concerned she was making the same mistake now. Charisma was not a crime.

At any rate, she couldn't tell Stark about her suspicions. After she'd spied on him before, he might trust her on missions but not to interfere with his personal life. And more than that, if she was wrong then she would have potentially ruined a stable, happy relationship between two people she liked. That was very far from her intent.

No, it seemed as if she had to prove it one way or the other first of all. What she had to do was put Mark in a position where he'd have to decide whether or not to be loyal to Tony.

She waited patiently for her chance, eventually finding herself alone in the kitchen with Mark.

"Has Tony mentioned if I'm mad at him?" she asked casually, as she dried the dishes.

"No," Mark said, turning round quickly. "Are you?"

"Yes, but I'll get over it," she said with a grimace. "We were bickering before I left, and he said something that went too far." That was a plausible enough story.

"Oh?" Mark frowned. "What did he say?"

"Just something about my skirt being so short it looked like it had a beard," she said with a disapproving laugh. It was something she'd heard him say, but not about _her. _"Look, promise you won't tell him anything, will you? I don't want to argue."

"My lips are sealed," Mark promised.

She smiled, making sure it was as open and intimate as possible. "Thanks, Mark. You're a good guy."

There. A caring boyfriend wouldn't keep secrets like that. A spy would want to keep her sweet as well, to take advantage of as many information sources as possible. All she had to do now was wait. If Stark knew she was telling lies about him, she had no doubt he wouldn't keep it secret for long.

It was a day later that Stark cornered her in the entertainment room. "So, hey," he said, not meeting her eyes. "I'm sorry I said whatever about your skirt."

Mark had told him. She felt herself smiling in relief, even as she scrambled quickly to untangle the situation. "You didn't say anything like that," she reminded him, more than a little surprised that he would apologise for something he hadn't done. Most of the time he didn't apologise for things he _had _done.

"I know, I thought it was a misunderstanding or...you knew I didn't say it?!" He was staring at her. "You knew I didn't say it but you told Mark I did anyway."

"I'm sorry," she tried to explain. "I wanted to be sure that he was looking out for you."

"He is," Stark said, his mouth twisted and his eyes strangely blank. "Don't you worry about that."

She had been expecting him to be angry, but not this angry. She frowned. "Tony - "

" - it's fine," Stark said, calming down with a visible effort. "It's fine. Sorry." He raked his hand through his hair with obvious agitation. "I don't want to talk about it anymore. Just...let it go. Please."

"Of course," she said softly. "I'm sorry." She shouldn't have got involved in the first place. Just like she'd half suspected, all her suspicions were baseless and she'd made a mess of her fragile friendship with Tony. From now on, she'd try and stay out of it. She should have trusted him to take care of himself in the first place.

* * *

Tony stayed in the shower for a long time, his head ducked low, letting the warm water wash over his neck. He told himself he wasn't hiding. He was tired right down to the bone, and everything hurt and he wasn't even sure anymore how much of that was Mark and how much was the Hulked-up lab animals they'd been sent to contain this morning. He just wanted some time to himself, just to try and wash his life away and put the mask back on.

He'd never felt this alone before. Even in Afghanistan there had been Yinsen there, holding him when the pain got too much, and he'd _known _Rhodey would be looking for him, and he'd had the thought of Pepper and Obie to sustain him. Now Yinsen was dead, and so was Obie, and Rhodey was out of reach and in danger, and Pepper didn't love him, and that was all his fault. And no one was looking for him because he was exactly where he was supposed to be, and no one would hold him when it hurt because he deserved it.

He hoped Steve wouldn't say anything to Mark about the park. There'd been two groups of civilians cornered. He'd only been quick enough to get one of them. Oh, Steve had jumped in to save the day and no one had been hurt, but Steve had needed to leave position which had left Thor with no one watching his back, and it could have all been so much worse. Bottom line was, he should have been better. Faster. He should have reacted to the problem before it got that far, and he was ashamed that all he was really focused on here was whether or not Steve would tell Mark.

He didn't think so. It was an operational issue, after all, and surely Steve would prefer to deal with it himself, but he just didn't know any more. Clint had made it clear that new tech wouldn't cut it as an apology now, and that had been about the only card Tony had been able to play since he was fifteen. And Natasha had actually gone to the trouble of lying to Mark to be certain he would punish Tony appropriately. That really _was _messed up, right? For once he was sure it wasn't just him. What had hurt most had been the way she'd smiled. For a moment he'd half thought she might ask to see the bruises. Well, if she did, he'd tell her to fuck off and deal with the consequences later. There was a line, even for him, and that was over it. The anger had faded now though. He'd felt betrayed, but now he just felt numb. Why had he expected anything else? They weren't friends. He'd been awful to her when they'd first met, and he doubted he'd managed to wipe that impression away. He couldn't really blame her for taking a certain satisfaction in the thought someone was keeping him in line. Hell, in a moment of masochism, he'd tried running a few internet searches the other day. There were a hell of a lot of people out there would wanted to see him get punched in the face. Ordinary people, people he'd never met, thought he needed a good beating. What was the point in arguing?

At least Natasha hadn't repeated the trick so far. He hadn't told Mark she'd been lying. He couldn't get through the conversation without explaining why, and that was just humiliating even without considering how much he dreaded seeing the disappointment in Mark's eyes.

But Steve had apparently mentioned to Mark that Tony had been skipping team dinners and meetings and yes, fair enough, he'd known that was asking for trouble before Mark got involved. It was just Mark had been spending more time at the tower lately, and while he was here he expected to spend all his time with Tony, and that meant Tony couldn't work all the hours of the day and night he felt like anymore. Mark said he could work and he'd just sit in the workshop and watch, but when they'd tried Mark had been fidgeting after barely half an hour, and then he'd stood up and started patting Dummy on the head, over and over again, looking straight at Tony all the while, and Tony didn't know if it had been meant as a threat, but all he could see was the wrench.

So he'd skipped a few team activities to catch up on things. He'd just told Steve how busy he was. He'd thought Steve understood.

Maybe Steve had realised that was only half the story. Truthfully, he didn't enjoy spending time with the others so much anymore. He always had to watch everything he said, and they'd gone from complaining that every word out of his mouth was inappropriate to complaining he was too quiet. He could couldn't win. And knowing what they felt about, knowing that they were all willing to accept what Mark did to him, it made it hard to feel part of the team. Yeah, he was on the team, and whatever happened he had their backs, and he guessed they had his, but it just made him feel like he was less than them. (_A consultant, not a friend?_)

There was a terrifying crash, and he spun round to see Mark striding across the bathroom floor, his face bright with anger, the bathroom door hanging off its hinges, the lock splintered.

"What - " Tony managed to say stupidly, before the shower door flew open, Mark's hand closed against his throat, and he was slammed back against the tiles, hard enough to make him cry out.

"An hour?" Mark snarled. "You've been in this fucking bathroom for an hour. What the hell have you been doing?"

His feet scrabbled desperately for purchase on the wet tiles. "I just lost track of the time," he tried to say, but Mark didn't care.

"What, by playing with yourself?" he demanded, reaching down between Tony's legs and squeezing hard.

Tears sprang to his eyes and he desperately hoped the still-running shower would be enough to hide them. "No," he managed to say.

Mark snorted. "You can't blame me for wondering," he said contemptuously, releasing his balls, and backhanding him in the face. "God, you're such a slut."

Tony's head bounced back off the wall, and he could feel the blood pouring from his lip. Somewhere in the haze, he thought Mark must really be angry. He was normally so good about avoiding Tony's face.

"You know your trouble, Tony?" Mark went, still standing there in his suit, and Tony felt more naked than he ever had in his life. "You have no self-control. You can't even take a shower like a normal person. Normal people can't afford to waste that much water or electricity."

"The tower's powered by an arc reactor," Tony reminded him. "We're off the grid."

"You always have an answer to everything, don't you?" Mark snapped. "This isn't about the shower. The shower is just a symptom. It's _you. _It's all you. You don't need to take an hour long shower. When I was in the army, we were expected to get in and get washed in under three minutes. That's all you need. And you never need to order pizza at three o'clock in the morning, and you don't need to buy art to just stick in storage somewhere...you need to control yourself better, Tony."

Deliberately, he reached up and wiped the blood off his face. "You know, if anyone in this room has a problem with self-control, for once I'm not sure it's me."

It was a stupid thing to say. He knew it was a stupid thing to say. Mark's face darkened and Tony tried desperately to brace himself. It was hopeless. The fist caught him square in the chest, just below the arc reactor, and he felt it move, slamming deeper into his body, grinding against his sternum, impacting his lungs.

He couldn't breathe. His chest was on fire and he couldn't breathe and there were dark spots dancing around the edges of his vision. Like it was happening to someone else, he felt himself falling forwards, his knees landing in the water.

"Tony?" Mark's voice was coming from somewhere else. "Tony, what's going on? Talk to me."

He couldn't. His hand came up to press against his chest, his fingers tingling, and he struggled to take even a single breath. It hurt. Oh, fuck, it hurt. Where was Yinsen?

"Okay, Tony, you're okay," Mark said, his voice fearful. "I've got you. Let's get you out of here, okay?"

He felt the arms enfold him and a second later he was being picked up and cradled against Mark's chest. His breathing grew more ragged and shallow. He couldn't...he couldn't...

"You're okay," Mark said as he laid Tony down on the bed. "Tony, I don't know what to do. Please. What do you need? Do you have any medication or...or anything?"

He stared up at Mark through glazed eyes, the room spinning around him. He tried to say something – _anything –_ but all that came out was a choked-up whimper, and he curled up around the pain.

"Oh, God," Mark whispered. "JARVIS! JARVIS, can you hear me?"

A second later and JARVIS' voice was there, coming from all around them, soft and reassuring. "Sir, you're suffering from a dyspnea attack. You need to try and relax. Lie flat."

"Dyspnea? What's that?" Mark demanded, his voice too loud. "Do we need to call a doctor?"

A doctor. Who would come in and see the bruises and draw their own conclusions, and he didn't want that, he really, really didn't want that. But JARVIS might just disagree. "JARVIS, d'n y' dare," he wheezed. "Th's _order._"

"Oh, thank God," Mark muttered. "Tony, you're going to be okay, I promise." He sat down beside Tony on the bed, close and warm and protective and dropped a comforting hand on Tony's shoulder. "I'm right here for you."

"Very well, sir," JARVIS cut in, effectively ignoring Mark. "Now, relax and focus on my voice. Purse your lips, breathe in through your nose, and out through your mouth. That's good, sir. That's very good indeed."

He felt warm inside. JARVIS kept right on talking. Mark let him lie his head on his lap and started smoothing through his hair. It was good. It was very good indeed, and gradually his breathing evened out and the pain died down to a dull roar.

"Better?" Mark asked anxiously.

He nodded, now completely exhausted. "Thanks."

"Good. Thank you, JARVIS, you can go," Mark added, looking up at the ceiling.

"Very well, sir," JARVIS said reluctantly, and Tony guessed he didn't want to leave. He nodded silently, to promise he'd be fine. He didn't know if JARVIS believed him.

"So, that was bad," Mark said quietly, using a tissue to carefully daub the blood off Tony's lip. "It was the arc reactor, right?"

"I, uh, have twenty percent less lung capacity than I should," he explained, looking away, embarrassed. "The arc reactor takes up a whole bunch of room in my chest. If you hit around it, sometimes it moves and..." And it hurt. Like nothing else on earth. "The armour keeps it covered."

"I see," Mark said quietly, drawing his arm comfortably around Tony's shoulder. "God, I'm sorry. I should have been more careful."

"No, I'm sorry," he said with a sigh. "I should have told you." He did think it was stupid for him to be apologising, but at the same time...he knew Mark would hit him. And he knew that being hit in the chest was bad. So really, it was kinda his fault.

"Yes, you should," Mark agreed calmly. "But I know you don't like talking about this stuff." He didn't. He hated it. But this...this was nice. Yes, Mark had hit him, but he'd been scared when he thought Tony might be actually hurt, and he was taking care of him now, and being held like this felt so _good. _Didn't that count for something? He reached up blindly towards Mark's face, and Mark kissed the back of his hand tenderly. "There, now," he murmured.

Tony yawned and rolled his shoulders sleepily. "Hey, what's that?" he asked as he suddenly noticed there was a candlelit table set up.

There was a long pause. "I made dinner," Mark said eventually.

"Oh. You cooked?" He was surprised. Mark hadn't cooked dinner for him in a while. "You had plans?" He supposed that would explain the anger at the long shower. He'd ruined Mark's evening.

"Yeah," Mark said with a smile and a sigh. "I made dinner, bought a nice bottle of wine..." He trailed his hand down Tony's chest. "Then afterwards, I thought I would make love to you, make you feel like you never have before."

He smiled. "Sounds good."

"And then," Mark said, not looking at him. "Then, when you were all tired and defenceless, I was going to tell you how much I love you."

"What?" He froze, and stared up at Mark, his heart pounding in his still-aching chest. "What?"

Mark looked nervous but determined. "I love you," he said again.

His mouth was dry. "Oh."

"That's not quite the answer I was hoping for," Mark said.

"Um, yeah." Unconsciously, his hand crept up to cover the arc reactor. "You know I'm not good at...I can't..."

Mark's arms were tight around him. If he tilted his head, he could hear Mark's heartbeat. He was so close, and that was comforting and threatening all at once. What would happen if he didn't say it? What would happen if he didn't feel it? He cared about Mark, and he knew Mark was good to him, but this...he didn't know what to do.

"Hey." Mark captured his hand. "Hey. It's okay. I understand. I just want you to know that you drive me crazy most of the time, but I love you. Is that okay?"

He looked so anxious. So hopeful. And this...this wasn't asking too much of Tony, right? This was okay. This had to be okay.

"Yeah," he said softly. "Yeah, that's okay. It's all okay."

"Good." Mark bent down and kissed him, long and lovingly, and Tony didn't know if he was in love, but he thought he should be. He should do something. Say something that would make it clear that this mattered to him, somehow. Mark sighed. "I just wish I didn't have to get up early in the morning to go back to my apartment and change. I don't like leaving you in the mornings."

There was a second of silence. Tony rushed to fill it. "Move in with me," he blurted out, before he'd even had a chance to think.

"Really?" Mark had a pleased smile on his face, and didn't look half as surprised as Tony felt. "Are you sure? That would be wonderful. Oh, thank you, Tony, I'll start bringing my stuff over tomorrow."

"Right." Tony swallowed hard. "I'll start making sure there's some closet space."

"I'm sure there'll be some space once we go through your things and figure out what you actually _need,_" Mark teased. "Thank you, Tony. You have no idea what this means to me." He slid down the bed until they were lying together, Mark's arms wrapped around him like a security blanket. "From now on, I'm going to be there, looking after you, full time."

Tony closed his eyes and tried to ignore the pain throbbing through his body. That was the price. He just had to believe it was worth it.


End file.
